


Never Alone

by HeadintheCloudsForever



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Love Confessions, Mild Blood, Near Death, Partner Betrayal, Sex, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Unplanned Pregnancy, Werewolf Bites, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 71,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29047302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadintheCloudsForever/pseuds/HeadintheCloudsForever
Summary: Longfic. Werewolf Norah Jameson is ordered by Greyback to infiltrate the Order to avenge the death of a comrade, but along the way, Norah develops a friendship with Nymphadora Tonks and fellow wolf, Remus Lupin, and falls for her new partner, Ollie Brennan in the process, but will her new friendships be enough to cause her to defy her master?Remadora, RL/NT & an OC Pairing. Slowburn. AU.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi all. Not much to say for an intro, except that Never Alone deals with the story of two minor characters from my Worth the Risk fanfic on here and Ff.net, who I fell in love with so much and decided they needed their own spin-off set in a completely separate AU and universe that's drastically different from Worth the Risk's timelines.
> 
> Werewolf Norah Jameson, who infiltrates the Order under Greyback's command, where she meets fellow werewolf Remus Lupin and forms an unlikely friendship with the man and his partner, Nymphadora Tonks, and meets another Order member, Ollie Brennan, the abused, sometimes violent-son of a notorious Death Eater and begins to fall in love with him, despite Greyback's orders to kill him. 
> 
> Set in an AU and this is a slow burn and a long-ish fic, pairings are Remadora and an OC Pairing of my own creation(s).
> 
> Side note: I've kept it the T rating to be safe, like with most of my fanfics on here for the HP fandom, I try not to have my main characters swear too much (but if they're a villain, then fair game) & I do use the word "bitch" a bit in the story, like a female dog, derogatory slang for a female werewolf, but since Molly said it to Bella in DH, I feel like it's justified?! Perhaps I'm overthinking. Anyways, enough rambling!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Never Alone**

**By HeadintheCloudsForever**

* * *

**1**

**THE** fire crackled in the hearth of the safe house as the Alpha read the letter delivered to him via owl post in the late hours of the night. The wood fire, blazing lazily in the ample fireplace, sent its warmth and light far out into the room, flashing red and orange reflections. But the warmth did not reach Fenrir Greyback's body or his soul.

If anything, the werewolf felt hollow. Cold and alone and fuming in his growing rancor. Rage hissed through his body like a deadly poison, screeching a demanding release in the form of unwanted violence. It was like a volcano erupting, his fury sweeping off him in ferocious waves, burning everything in his wolfish sight.

The awful hollowness, his waves of wretchedness threatened to engulf his mind, body, and soul. Glancing up at the mantle of Lucius Malfoy's home, so graciously opened up to the likes of himself and a few other Death Eaters as a safe house, Greyback stared numbly into the fire's glow, unaware that he had started to crumple the letter, bearing news of his blood brother's death.

Angrily, he threw it into the fire and watched as the parchment scroll began to blacken and burn, becoming ashes forever.

Tonight would be forever an unpleasant memory in his mind, but Greyback could feel the anger coursing through his veins, igniting hotter than dragon fire. He knew an outburst was on his way if he couldn't control himself, and his muscles tensed up as much as they possibly could. The knowing didn't soften the news his kin was dead.

His emotional pain took him not so far away, but deep inside the beast, to a primitive place that knew how to cope with the kind of pain he was currently experiencing.

That—that _boy_ , of Death Eater Jack Brennan's, had taken his brother's life, him and his wretched partner, Remus Lupin, that wolf, the only son of Lyall and Hope Lupin, with no regard for the man's life.

With no regard to the pain that it would cause Fenrir. His vision became blotched with violent colors that moved without design. His wall of pain still crippled, but the vision of the last time he had spoken to his brother, to Bryce, had been in anger. They had argued, Bryce had stormed off without a word.

Fenrir caught sight of his reflection in the mirror across the room, and for a moment, he was startled. How similar to his older brother he had looked, when his brother, a wolf as he was, had been younger, and full of vibrant life before it had been stripped from him so cruelly by Lupin and the Brennan boy.

The expression reflecting back at him in the mirror was tired. His dark brown eyes were weary from lack of adequate sleep, and his hair had begun to fleck grey near the temples.

There was a small scar on his cheek and eyebrow from when his mate, Rena, had gotten a little too carried away, the minx, during one of their games the night before the full moon.

Glowering, he turned his chair back towards the fire and stared into its depths as though nothing around him mattered.

The letter hadn't gone into painstaking detail over how it happened, merely that the Brennan boy and Lyall Lupin's son had defended Bellatrix Lestrange's niece from a mauling his own brother had threatened the witch with, and as a consequence of his decision, he had paid for it with his life. Brennan had done it.

Greyback didn't bother to stifle the smirk that tugged at the corners of his thin, slightly wormy lips. It always seemed to be that a pretty little witch was behind every act of insanity, every moment of madness and lewdness, insane behavior, really.

_Your brother is dead, and nothing will change that_.

Bryce's estate and assets had been left entirely to Fenrir, as his brother had no wolf cubs of his own, and while this pleased Greyback to no end, he would much rather have Bryce back alive and well.

Fenrir wanted to say how sorry he was. If he had been there alongside him in the Department of Mysteries, perhaps he could have done something to prevent it happen, but…but…

In a sudden fit of rage as a vent of adrenaline coursed through his already boiling-hot bloodstream, Greyback bolted from his chair and overturned the piece of furniture he'd been occupying. Ire fueled his entire body, consuming his moralities.

The werewolf snarled and ravaged, trashing anything within reach that he could get a hold of to throw or smash.

And then, as soon as he started, he stopped. He could give his brother the peace that he had not found in life by killing the bastard responsible for Bryce's death.

He'd kill Brennan and Lupin, and what better way to do that than to get at the witch?

This thought began to consume him until the wolf could think of nothing else. He gave his wand a sharp rap and watched with burning, smoldering eyes as the wine goblet which had been resting idly on the small night table beside his armchair rose of its own accord, the bottle of red elvish wine pouring itself.

He latched onto the goblet with a strong claw and threw his head back and drained his glass in one heart swig and hollered for his reluctant lieutenant. But the bitch _owed_ him.

If Jameson wanted to prove to Greyback that she wasn't bloody _stupid_ , then she'd do this for him, no questions asked.

" **NORAH**!" he roared in a hoarse voice, his growl reverberating off the walls of the Malfoy's elaborate parlor.

He began to grow impatient as the seconds turned into minutes, and Greyback grew angry. If he strained his wolfish hearing to listen, just so, he could hear the blonde she-wolf's encroaching footsteps, light and timid and soft, they were.

She was lingering just outside the door, reluctant to enter. A delicate rapping of the woman's white-boned knuckles on the large double oak doors of Lucius Malfoy's living room, more of a study, really, made Greyback's lips curl up into a twisted smirk.

His beauty, his prize was here. _Took her long enough._

"Come in," Greyback growled, his voice echoing through the study's walls. The door gave a horribly loud creak and in stepped a feminine figure, looking immensely displeased that the door had made such a racket, and what do you know, she wasn't.

Norah Jameson, a bright, vivacious young thing of around twenty-seven or so, entered the room, timid and afraid to look at him, as always, her lashes lowered to the hardwood floor beneath her boots, as Norah Jameson wildly glanced around the room at anything but her master, her Alpha.

The bitch never _could_ bear to look Greyback in the eyes, if at all.

He almost laughed at this but managed to restrain himself. _Afraid of me. As always. But I like it better this way_.

The petite blonde averted Greyback's listless, piercing stare as Greyback stared pointedly right back, uncaring what Norah thought of him.

Fenrir's smirk widened even further as he caught her staring at him in his black shirt and a trench coat that hung open to reveal the hollow of his broad, beefy throat, down to the definitions of his muscular, if not rather a hairy chest, and her face flushed high with color in embarrassment as Norah gaped.

With a careful, if not inquisitive gaze, Greyback could appreciate how the warm embers from the roaring fireplace in the dead of night cast a soft glow on his favorite bitch, his top lieutenant.

The twenty-seven-year-old was pure and innocent, un-defiled by wolf or man, rendering the little blonde perfect for a job of this caliber as a truly horrible, awful idea began to take root in his mind and spread rapidly like a wild infection, this plague, this plan of revenge his calculated mind worked to concoct.

Even Greyback could admire the girl's slim, petite form in her black lace dress and boots. Her blonde hair cut almost brutally short in a feminine pixie with long bangs that tended to have a habit of falling in front of her bangs from time to time, acting as a shield from that which she did not wish to see, which more times often than not, happened to be Fenrir.

The golden hues of her hair cast a strange reflection about the room, causing Greyback to become momentarily distracted as he stared at the blonde bitch, the orphaned little whelp that he'd found on the streets, starving, cold, alone, and, after a modicum of pity that had tugged at his blackened heartstrings, had taken the girl in, and raised her like one of his own cubs.

Her short hair was a thousand shades of gold in the right light, and in other light, depending on the time of the evening, it was a rich coppery strawberry blonde color sometimes. Norah's bangs fell in wisps and stray strands just above delicately shaped eyebrows.

Her hair the punishment for talking to another wolf, one close to her age a couple of months ago, Greyback had hacked it off himself in one of his classic rages, taking care to remind Jameson that Norah's very soul belonged to him, and to never talk to another wolf or man again without his permission.

It suited her, even he had to admit. He liked the look on her. It highlighted her good jawline and exceptionally high cheekbones. Brought attention to her brilliant blue-grey eyes. Her eyes were pure and cold, devoid of any warmth. Beautiful. Just like her. Yes, no other was going to do for this.

If he sent anyone else to take care of the Brennan bastard and Lupin, it would surely be obvious what was transpiring, but send in this little dove to infiltrate Albus Dumbledore's precious Order of the Phoenix, and the old man wouldn't know what hit him until the last possible second and it was already too late.

Fenrir let out a low warning growl from the back of his throat and turned his head to the side to cough, glancing around the room at the utter mess he'd made of Malfoy's lavish study.

He grew irritated as the blonde waved her wand and the room began to repair itself, though she paused to physically right a chair that he'd overturned during his episode without the use of magic, setting aside her wand on a nearby wooden table.

"Stop." Just a single-word command, gruff, coarse, but enough to goad the blonde into stopping what she was doing.

He glared at her with narrowed eyes, his dark brown eyes glistening dangerously with unshed moisture. "You took your time in getting to me, bitch. One would almost think you were avoiding me on purpose, Jameson," he snarled in a gruff tone.

The young blonde werewolf in her late twenties merely stared at her Alpha. His dark hair was disheveled, and the firelight bathed one side of his face, but it did nothing to warm the cold brown eyes Norah found currently fixated upon her.

"Well, then what do you want?" Norah asked, bitterness and hatred seeping their way unbidden to the surface of her quiet, kind, and shy tone. "What is it? Do you need help, Alpha?"

"Do you know what I am, darling?" Fenrir asked in a casual manner that caused Norah to freeze, rooted to her spot.

The younger werewolf, he could tell, had not anticipated her being asked a question and Fenrir had caught her off guard.

"No, Alpha," she whispered in a small, meek voice. She hesitated, biting her bottom lip. "What…exactly are you, sir?"

Fenrir snorted, finding it difficult not to roll his eyes a bit. "I'm nothing more than a visionary with a simple dream, love. That all of our kind might rise up and take what's ours. I don't give a damn what you think of me, bitch, as long as you obey me, Jameson. I acknowledge I have…odd methods, but they work. I know what life should be like and I understand that so many magical folks, especially our females, are inferior to me. In my position, dear, it is simply best to think of what I do as mercy. I know if I don't save your kind with the wonders of death, you all will die with the horrors of life. Don't you get it?"

Norah had been rendered speechless. Her jaw dropped open in shock, and when she attempted to address her concerns with her master, all that came out was a strangled attempt at speech. When she did manage to regain control of her voice, her words were faint as the wind.

"What…. what do you want _me_ for?"

Greyback smirked and shot her an appreciative look. _Smart girl_. "I have a _job_ for you, little dove. One suited to your…talents, shall we say? My brother was murdered by one of our own kind. A _human_ by the name of Ollie Brennan, and the werewolf Remus Lupin," he snarled, just mentioning Lyall Lupin's son from his lips caused his blood to curdle in his veins.

Norah nodded her head slowly at all of the information as she took it all in, though the Alpha ignored the small gasp she gave off as she clamped a hand over her mouth at the news that Bryce was dead. She had always liked him. Not like Fenrir at all, the other brother was, and to hear he was gone, was a blow.

She wondered how it happened, and had no time to react, much less probe her master for more information on his death. Norah clamped her lips tightly shut and let Fenrir speak, knowing the consequences of daring to speak out against Alpha.

"But such information is impertinent to our discussion. What really matters to me right now is _you_ , lovely," Greyback continued speaking, as though Norah hadn't just interrupted. "You're going to help me get vengeance for the death of Bryce. There's no one better suited for this task than you, sweet thing." He turned away at the look of dawning shock and anger as the emotions snaked their way onto her pale features as she frowned and raised her eyebrows at her Alpha in sheer disbelief.

"Why?" she growled, a muscle in her jaw giving a twitch.

Greyback merely smiled and favored silence as the only apt response to the question she had just posed, relishing her fury.

It was such a rare emotion for the blonde she-wolf, or any emotion at all, really, to see it in her eyes other than a dull acceptance at her plight in life, so when she did get like this, Fenrir secretly cherished every second of it and loved her for it.

There was something about the blonde witch's voice that made Fenrir listen. There was something determined, strong, unfazed about it. He closed his eyes tiredly before looking across the way at the spirited, fiery She-Wolf for a second time.

She really was a pretty little witch. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a good complexion. Norah Elizabeth Jameson was a beautiful witch, yes, but in a subtle sort of way. In the kind of way where if you were lucky enough to be observant, as Fenrir was, you would look twice and see within the werewolf a strong spirit.

This was a good thing. It meant Norah would survive there. But it also meant it would make it that much more dangerous for her, but it also made his plan a possibility….

Norah narrowed her blue eyes as she noticed her Alpha staring at her in a somewhat melancholic fashion, odd for him.

He gave the blonde wolf no time to react as he lunged from his chair, closing off the gap of space between the two in two quick, swift strides and twisted Norah's arm behind her back, gripping it tightly with his claws, threatening to break the woman's arm if she so much as struggled in any shape or form.

The she-wolf wasn't going anywhere Fenrir didn't want her to. Drawing his wand from the exterior pocket of his trench coat, he pressed the tip of his wand into the pale column of her throat, digging the tip hard enough to pierce her pretty skin.

Greyback leaned forward, resting his chin on her left shoulder as he whisper-hissed his next words to the girl through gritted teeth, inhaling the intoxicating scent of whatever shampoo the witch used in her hair that reminded him of eucalyptus and pinewood. She smelled like autumn.

"If you _don't_ do this for me, Jameson, then I might just destroy your pretty little face and make you one ugly _dog_." Fenrir twisted Jameson's arm even harder, her cry of pain like sweet music to his ears as he waited for Norah to answer his demand.

He knew full well she would comply. She always did.

"You'll never be beautiful again, little dove. How's that for a little incentive?" he growled, tightening his grip even further.

"Please!" Norah begged, just the plea sounding as though it were causing the younger werewolf great pain to beg and grovel at her master's feet. "Y—you can't be _serious_ , Alpha!"

"Learn your words, Jameson," Greyback snarled as he relinquished his ironclad grip on her arm, summoning a little of his wolfish strength within himself to shove Norah forward roughly, where she shot out an arm to brace against the wall in order to avoid tripping, where she backed against the wall and glowered up at Greyback, who towered over, utterly furious.

"Why do you need me for this? You can't do this!" she challenged hotly, swallowing down hard as her master lovingly twirled his wand in between his fingers as he merely watched.

" _Won't_ , not _can't_ , Jameson. I _won't_ because _you_ will. And if _you_ won't, then _I_ will, and you're not going to like it if _I_ have to get involved. You don't want to test me, pet, do you, love?"

Norah Jameson continued to hold her wrathful stare for a few more seconds, until Greyback sensed the shift within her, seeing the fiery passion in her brilliant cobalt pale blue orbs diminish, and her shoulders slumped forward in a sense of defeat. Perhaps she had recognized that there was no other way.

He did not tamper down his victorious smile as Norah mutely nodded, pursing her lips into a thin line, and reaching up a shaking hand to tuck a wisp of her hair back behind her ear.

A nervous habit of hers, he noticed, but an endearing one.

"What would you have me do?" Norah asked morosely, actively refusing to meet her Alpha's gaze, staring instead at a spot on the wall behind Fenrir Greyback's head. "Why me?"

"Because if I get any other witch to do it, it would be too obvious," snorted Greyback, finding it difficult not to roll his eyes a bit at the young blonde witch's inability to comprehend.

But she _would_ , though, once he divulged the details.

He closed off the gap of space and reached up a surprisingly tender claw to tuck yet another stray strand of her hair that had fallen out of its place, ignoring the shiver of revulsion that quickly wafted its way down Norah's spine.

"I can't do this without you, Miss Jameson," Greyback continued, sensing the young blonde she-wolf needed more encouragement. Words of praise would have to be enough, and if she really wouldn't do then, then he'd have no choice but to revert to more barbaric means. Namely, the Imperius Curse.

Norah remained silent, allowing Greyback to speak.

"The men that killed Bryce aren't going quickly. Brennan and Lupin, I'm going to kill them _slowly_ ," Greyback emphasized through gritted teeth, and he swiveled his head around to gauge the young woman's reaction as her emotions rapidly changed.

Norah blinked owlishly up at Fenrir. "I—I don't understand. What's my part in all of this?" she breathed quietly.

Fenrir glared at her through his narrowed eyes that more resembled the Dark Lord's now, those slit-like, soulless pupils.

The witch still didn't comprehend. But she would, though.

"Lyall Lupin's boy, Remus, is already in a partnership with Bellatrix Lestrange's niece, I believe, so _that_ one is out of the question, but if my sources are correct, the man's partner, Jack Brennan's boy, remains… _unattached_. I would have you join the Order of the Phoenix undercover, Miss Jameson. You will do this," he barked hoarsely, seeing the girl open her mouth to protest. "You're going to use your charm to seduce Jack Brennan's boy. He's about your age, I think. Little older, probably. But it doesn't matter how old the kid is, girl. Use those Merlin-given talents of yours to get Jack's boy to fall for you, smile at him, sleep with him, do whatever you have to, and at the right moment, I'm going to rip his wretched little heart out with my own two claws and sink my teeth into his throat before removing his accursed head from his body."

The expression on Norah Jameson's face was one of pure revulsion intermingled with horror.

It was truly delish, he knew. He wished he had a Pensieve so he could store this memory away to revisit the look on her face later, but he quickly shoved that thought aside the moment the girl opened her mouth to dare to speak out against his plan.

"Alpha, I—I don't think this is a good idea," Norah started to say hastily, but Greyback shot her a truly admonishing look that made the young blonde werewolf begin to feel incredibly uneasy, not to mention more than a little perturbed, so she thought the best course of action was to stay silent and wait.

Greyback let out a short, bark-like laugh.

"You've been _thinking_?" We both know that's not your strong suit, is it, Jameson? You got _guts_ , kid, I'll grant you that. It's why you were Sorted into Gryffindor, but you're no Ravenclaw," he snorted. "No. It's not," he added, seeing the young witch open her mouth to respond. "It's _mine_. Without me, you'd be _nothing_ , girl. You'd still be a poor little wolf, out on the streets selling yourself for money, throwing yourself at the first man who showed you an ounce of kindness, if I had to hazard a guess. Who took you in? looked after you like a true friend, little pet?"

The older, much taller werewolf smirked and ignored the enraged expression on his girl's face.

"Consider yourself lucky, love. Were this anybody else, they'd put a collar on you, parade you around like you're their _pet_ ," he snarled meanly.

Norah bit down on her bottom lip, a hesitant look overcoming her pale features. Greyback furrowed his brows.

"If I—if I do this for you, will you let me go?" Norah dared to have the audacity to ask, leaving her question hanging in the air for several excruciating moments before she quickly realized she had made a grave mistake in asking Fenrir this.

Ever since Fenrir had picked her off out of the streets and taken her in and raised her as his own, she had more or less been a prisoner in Greyback's servitude, not granted any leave.

"Will I be free?" she continued when he did not respond.

" _No_ ," he growled instantly, his voice a smooth, seductive purr as he felt a shift within himself and his expression softened just a tad as he looked at the young woman who was, more or less, very much like a daughter to him.

Like his own little cub.

"You belong to _me_ , love. You and I, we're a _pack_ ," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Your mother too, think of Rena. It would break her fragile little heart if you were ever to leave us. Never forget that. Without us, you would be dead, Jameson. You should be grateful to have a roof over your head, a job, food to eat. Most wolves aren't as fortunate as we are, dove. If you don't do as I ask, I'm going to destroy your pretty little face and make it so that no man or wolf will ever look at you again."

After a moment, he expected Norah Jameson to nod. But the woman did neither of those things. She merely proceeded to frown in response to his heated remarks and turned her heated gaze towards her master. "You can't do this to me," she growled. Greyback stood, completely stunned by the witch's response, and he felt his smug expression slide off his face faster than Stinksap, only to be replaced by a look of utter anger.

Poor Norah virtually had no time to react as Greyback lunged forward, wrenching her close enough, one claw wrapped around her delicate, birdlike wrist in a vice grip.

He drew back his hand and backhanded the young blonde werewolf across her cheek, the sound almost deafening and lingered in the room long after he had struck the girl for daring to speak against him.

She did not flinch nor turn away, though he did witness her jaw muscles tensing up as Norah silently accepted the blow. The sting and sharpness of his hit stung across her cheek, burning.

The young blonde werewolf staggered backward only slightly, though she dug the heels of her black boots firmly in the hardwood floor to prevent her feet from betraying her and causing Norah to fall.

For a moment, Norah quite forgot the fear and trepidation she felt towards her master, a man whom she'd once called 'Father', and glowered at Fenrir Greyback until he towered over her with his fist raised, ready to strike her a second time if she chose to have another ill-timed outburst like that against him.

Norah blinked back the onset of a fresh wave of salty, briny tears, sure that slick liquid would slip from her lids at any given moment. She saw no other choice. She'd have to do it.

"How dare you talk back to me like that, girl? Have you no sense of the nature of your position, here, witch? You open your mouth to speak to me again, Jameson, you will regret it!" Greyback shouted, his dark eyes narrowing, glistening with unshed tears, half-crazed with madness as Norah believed he was still struggling to process the news of his blood brother's death. "You're doing this for me! If you don't, I'll _kill_ you…"

"Why _me_? Out of all the women in the Dark Lord's ranks, or otherwise, that you could get, why do you come to me…Father?" Norah begged, stomping her foot, a temporary release of frustration, not that it was going to do her much good.

Norah said this, but her voice lacked the conviction she really needed to sell her argument that Norah wanted to make. That he could've gotten someone else, another she-wolf to do this for him, anyone but her, not her, _anything_ but this… Of course, obvious logic wasn't going to get through to the werewolf under Lord Voldemort's commands, so if Norah had any hope of squirming her way out of this mess, a switch in tactics was in order.

"Y—you don't understand," she began, hating herself for what she was about to say. "I—I'm not…strong enough, not pretty enough to do this."

Fenrir chuckled, shaking his head, as though disappointed with his adopted daughter, and turned to look at Norah angrily. "You're _wrong_ , dove. You're the only one who your mother and I can trust. Don't you want your uncle's murderer to be brought to justice?" he hissed. Without waiting for Norah to answer him, he continued speaking, ignoring her obvious growing discomfort. "I'm not getting someone else to do it, because it would be too obvious, that's why," he growled. "There's no one else better suited for this than you, my love. You will do this, my dear. I thought that would get your attention, girl. You do this for me, and I _don't_ ruin your pretty face. If you don't do as I ask, you know what happens when you cross me. I'm going to destroy your face and leave you alone to fend for yourself. See how long you last without my help or protection. You'll _die_ without my care. The other wizards and witches, hell, even the Muggles, once they find out what you are, they'll _kill_ you, dear. It's the plain and ugly truth, love."

Her Alpha's words, although cruel, were not incorrect. Her father, her master, her leader, had never spoken a harsher truth. She would have no other choice. Norah had to do this. It was the only way. Recognizing her defeat, the young blonde witch pointedly hung her head and nodded as she averted his gaze.

It was all she could do, but even she knew she couldn't continue living this way. There had to be a way out of this hell.

_There had to be. There's got to be another way, or I'm going to kill myself_ , Norah thought despairingly, keeping her gaze fixated on the wooden floorboards beneath her boots. _I can't do this anymore_.

Turning away from Jameson, Greyback felt the corners of his thin lips once again curve upward into a satisfied little smirk. He dismissed her with a wave of his hairy hand.

"Excellent. I knew you'd come to see things my way, my _daughter_. Do whatever you have to do to get ready. Pack up your things, I'll ensure you have the necessary arrangements to stay. My contact was quite forthcoming about where the Brennan boy and Mr. Lupin were going to be stationed tomorrow. See to it you're put _directly_ in their line of sight and get their attention. I don't care _how_ you do it but become an Order member. It's the only way to get close to the Brennan boy. You know this. These things must be done delicately. It requires a _woman's_ touch…"

He did not look at Norah Jameson, but he could sense the disturbance on her skin, the prickling of it, how the fine hairs on the back of her neck practically stood upright at his cold words.

"You do this one thing for me, you'll never want for anything else ever again, Jameson, but you don't need me to tell you this, do you? You'll be a _free_ wolf. Free to live your life if that's what you want. You'll stay an Order member as long as it bloody takes in order to ensure your task is done until I or your mother decide to send for you. I don't give a damn what story you invent, girl, tell them whatever you want. Tell them I attacked you, tell them you ran away from home, have nowhere else to go, tell them you want a job, I don't care. Just do it. Get close to the Brennan boy, win his heart, and I'll take care of the rest. All _you_ need to do is to look pretty for him. And I'll take care of the rest. It'll be no fuss, and no one else will get hurt…"

Nothing would stop him from taking Brennan and Lupin's heads, both of them. Both men had been there, and as far as Fenrir was concerned, both Oliver James Brennan and Remus John Lupin were the murderers of his brother, and _both_ would suffer. And suffer.

And _suffer_ …

He waited with gritted teeth until he heard Norah's retreating footsteps and the door gingerly shut closed behind her until he spoke, collapsing in the very chair that Norah had righted when he'd overturned it earlier.

"Brother," he whispered when Norah had gone. "I'm sorry that I could not be by your side to protect you. But I'm here for you now, and I promise you, your pain will be paid for a thousand times over with the wizards' deaths. I promise you, you will be avenged, and I hope you are able to watch as I make your murderers pay for your death with their own lives..."

He pondered this as he stared into the fire, as though nothing else mattered. With Norah now in the picture, well…

Remus Lupin and Ollie Brennan's days were as good as numbered.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

**OLLIE** Brennan walked purposefully through the hallway of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, his footsteps making a horrible creaking noise as they stepped on the dust-covered floorboards. He let out a sniff of disapproval and pulled a face at the dust and grime that coated the entirety of the townhouse.

Kreacher, the house-elf, if the little _wretch_ could dare even call himself a proper house-elf, did little to no cleaning at all.

Ollie scrunched his nose in disgust and tried to avoid looking at the dirt and grime that coated this place, thinking that one or two quick good Scourgify Charms would do the trick.

He marveled at how quickly his life had turned around. A year since leaving behind his family, the men of whom came from a long line of Death Eaters, and he, the black sheep of the Brennan family, was the first to ever defy his father's command.

A year since Dumbledore had inducted him into the Order, despite his family's history and the other Order members' initial distrust of him, save for Nymphadora and Remus, Merlin bless their souls. Those two alongside Sirius seemed to be the only ones who gave a damn about him.

And even longer than that since Tonks had left him…

_No_! Ollie froze in the hall, forcing his mind to grind to a halt. He would not think of his beloved best friend in _that_ way.

He'd promised himself that he wouldn't the day he became inducted into the Order, that he'd put aside his feelings for her.

Ollie had said goodbye to the hopes of a romantic life with Dora Tonks a few years ago, and even more so now that she was involved with Remus Lupin, and he'd been left with no other choice but to set aside his unrequited feelings for his friend for the sake of their friendship. It's what Tonks wanted.

Though, try as he might, as he swore to leave Tonks in his past, and as practical as Ollie Brennan prided himself on being, there were still times of the pain of what he would never have seeped its way unbidden to the surface and render the poor chap nearly unable to breathe. Tonight was one of those nights, sadly.

It had been hard at first, working alongside Tonks on various missions for the Order of the Phoenix, and harder still with the man that Ollie knew she fancied above all else. Ollie had not been able to drive away from the melancholy, expecting memories of their friendship to haunt his every waking moment.

It was his duties as a fully-fledged Order member that kept Ollie busy for most of his days, and that was what quickened his steps as he made his way down the hallway of the townhouse.

Professor Dumbledore had requested his presence alongside Remus Lupin.

Ollie could not help but wonder what the reasons were behind their being summoned. His stomach tightened at just the thought, and the former Slytherin and Legilimens was not at all a man who became scared easily.

Ollie could not help but ponder what his future might hold as he slowed his stride as he moved to stand in the open doorway of Grimmauld Place's kitchen.

Professor Dumbledore sensed Ollie's presence before he saw the young man, who was seated at the long rectangular kitchen table in the midst of an intense conversation with Remus Lupin and looked up.

Old Albus greeted the dark-haired man almost before Ollie had even stepped one foot over the threshold of the kitchens.

"Ah, Mr. Brennan." Professor Dumbledore glanced up from his mug of tea and peered at the young man through the lenses of his silver-half moon spectacles, cobalt blue eyes twinkling alight with a mischievous glint that Ollie was not at all sure what to make of, at first. "Please, please, come in. Sit."

He motioned the much younger man to take the seat just across from Remus and himself, his beard giving a little twitch.

Ollie gave a curt nod by way of response and covered the distance from the kitchen's entryway to the table in short order, with a rapid speed that caused Lupin to shirk away in surprise.

He blanched, a light blush speckling along his cheeks, as he pointedly looked away from the werewolf's scarred and, in his mind, truly ungodly visage, though the shadow of the handsome man that Remus John Lupin was, was visible under his scars.

Three diagonal scars snaked their way across the man's pale, peaky face, beginning at his browbone and ending at the corners of the man's lips, tugging his mouth downward in a slight grimace.

Courtesy of werewolf Fenrir Greyback when he was five years old, or so Remus claimed, though the older man had given Ollie no just cause to doubt him in their partnership yet.

Though still quite young at age thirty-five years old, Remus Lupin bore a forlorn expression and was looking exhausted. His thick tuft of light brown hair flecked with bits here and there with premature grey was wild and disheveled, and Lupin was looking uncomfortable see Ollie's presence, which he thought strange, though he had no time to ponder it as he spoke up.

If only to break the uncomfortable silence between them.

Ollie was still at a loss as to what the Order's founder could need of him and Remus at…here, Ollie glanced up at the clock above the mantlepiece over the doorway. Two in the morning.

However, as a still-relatively new Order member, Ollie was eager to do what he could to please the Hogwarts Headmaster.

"You sent for me, Albus?" Ollie inquired politely, dipping his head in acknowledgment at Albus, cringing at how gravelly and rough his voice sounded, and he swallowed down hard past the growing lump in his throat, and to avoid the piercing icy stare of Albus's gaze, he picked at a loose thread coming undone at the sleeve of his thick black wool sweater nervously.

Albus remained thoughtful for a moment before he spoke.

"I would ask for you and Lupin to take the night watch outside Augustus Rookwood's house, Mr. Brennan, if you are comfortable with this. There's been activity outside his home."

Ollie felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach as it swooped and churned, suddenly growing concerned.

Augustus Rookwood was one of the accused who had been convicted and faced the inquest of the torture and capture of the Auror Frank Longbottom and his wife, Alice, alongside Barty Crouch Jr. and Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange.

Crouch was dead at the hands of the Dementor's Kiss, a few years dead now, but the Lestranges and Rookwood had since escaped from Azkaban a few months ago.

His greatest fear, though he would never admit this to anyone else, was that one of them, either Bellatrix Lestrange or Augustus Rookwood, would get it in their mind to come after Tonks, and he would be powerless to stop them doing it, then.

They all thought him a traitor for abandoning his father's way of life, that he should spurn the Dark Lord's cause and ways cast him out and disowned him from the rest of the Brennan family.

"Is she—Tonks—I—I mean the rest of the Order, in danger?" Ollie asked, his blush intensifying as he swore Remus Lupin's eyes narrowed at the mention of his old best friend, unable to keep the note of urgency out of his quiet, tenor-like voice, eager to provide whatever help and aid that he could give.

"Not presently, no," Professor Dumbledore, exchanging a surprised glance with Lupin out of the corner of his eyes before turning back to Ollie. "Miss Tonks, not to mention the rest of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, are quite safe, Mr. Brennan. I merely ask that the two of you watch his house, sir."

"Of course. We'll do whatever we can to help," Ollie vowed, casting a pleading look towards Lupin, who nodded.

Professor Dumbledore gave the two men a grateful look knowingly, knowing already the men would not refuse his request for help.

"You have proven yourself a valuable member of our organization, Mr. Brennan. Given your, ah, _unique_ familial history, shall we say, I could understand your initial reluctance to join us, but given what you know, I am eternally grateful that you have? The knowledge you've provided us, the intel on Lord Voldemort's methods, his supporters, have been most invaluable and irreplaceable, Oliver. You've served us with valor. You've demonstrated your skill and principles in serving each mission without question or complaint," Albus spoke up.

Ollie accepted the compliment humbly. "Of course, sir. It's been my pleasure. Anything to help further your cause, I will."

A flicker of regret darted across Dumbledore's lined and weathered features as he exchanged a brief glance with Remus.

"That being said, it is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that tonight will be your last night as Mr. Lupin's partner."

Confused, Ollie quirked a brow the werewolf's way at the silent exchange, not sure what to make of the morose expression, and now somewhat nervous look on Lupin's face.

Though he had no time to ponder it as Dumbledore continued speaking, seemingly having missed his confusion. Ollie felt the fear begin to well up within his stomach and his knees went weak, and he was grateful he was already seated.

Without his duties in the Order to consume him, what was he going to do when the memories of his friendship with Tonks and painful emotions of knowing he wanted something that had never been his, to begin with, and never would be his, came flooding back?

If Ollie had nothing to distract himself from the thoughts of his own tormented mind, and from Tonks, then he feared the thoughts of Nymphadora Tonks would engulf him.

Yet, somehow, the worst thought of all was wondering if he had done or said something to displease Remus or Albus.

"I—I don't understand, sir," Ollie began carefully, choosing his words as his nervous gaze flitted from Albus to Remus, both men exchanging sympathetic glances with one another. "H—have I done something to displease you, sir?" he asked quietly and confused. "I can assure you, Albus, Remus, that any oversight on my part was completely unintentional."

Professor Dumbledore exchanged a compassionate look with Lupin and promptly shook his head in disagreement. He had been afraid the young man would misunderstand his intent.

"Mr. Brennan. Please. Allow me to _speak_ if you please. You're more skilled, stronger, and honorable perhaps than any other former Slytherin I've met, save for Severus," he added, and if he saw the look of shock and outrage on Remus Lupin's too-pale features at the mention of his Potions Master's name, he pointedly ignored it and continued addressing Ollie as though Remus Lupin had not just pulled a face that was clearly meant as a look of distrust and dislike, though Ollie knew if he were to ask the man directly what his thoughts were on Snape, Remus would say that he neither liked nor particularly disliked Severus.

The furrow on Ollie Brennan's brow only deepened. "The truth is that…"

Here, he glanced towards Remus, which only confused Ollie even further. He had thought the two of them had gotten along relatively well enough since his induction into the Order, but perhaps he had been wrong in that regard.

"Recent developments, shall we say, have transpired, but I will let Mr. Lupin discuss those matters with you in private in a few moments once you leave Headquarters. I think it best for the time being if you were to be appointed a new partner, Oliver."

"Sir?" stammered Ollie, not sure what else he could say, though he was slowly beginning to realize that what Professor Dumbledore was asking of him was somehow indeed of far greater importance than remaining Remus Lupin's partner for the duration of the year, though what the old warlock's reasonings for this were, only Albus and Lupin seemed to know.

"My decision on this matter is _final_ , Mr. Brennan, the reasons for reaching this decision did not come lightly, but I will allow Remus to address any concerns and answer any questions that I'm sure you have brewing in a moment once you reach your destination," Professor Dumbledore spoke in a tone that bordered on finality, and Ollie felt his shoulders slump in defeat.

Judging by the way the older wizard's cobalt eyes had darkened to almost a cerulean hue in color, there was to be no changing the Headmaster's mind once Albus Dumbledore had reached a firm decision.

Ollie slowly nodded his agreement, though conceding to Albus Dumbledore's demands did nothing to lessen the stab of fear that pricked at his heartstrings and rendered his body cold.

"Sir?" he questioned hopefully as he rose from his chair once he noticed Remus Lupin had done the same, with his about-to-be-former partner shooting him a look silently signaling that it was time to go. "If I could perhaps make one request of my own as it pertains to my new partner?"

"But of course," Dumbledore answered, looking surprised.

"Allow me, _please_ , to have a say in who I work alongside next." There was a beat, a pause, and the words tumbled out of Ollie's lips before the man could think about stopping himself. "Please don't pair me with someone like Mundungus Fletcher, sir."

Oh, Merlin's Beard. He hadn't _meant_ to blurt it out in such a way, it had just sort of…happened, but then again, Ollie would be lying to himself if he did not admit that Albus Dumbledore intimidated him, at least a little bit, though he could swear that he swore a flicker of amusement and intrigue dart through the Headmaster's brilliant blue eyes behind the lenses of his glasses.

Out of the corner of Ollie's eyes, the younger man swore he saw Remus Lupin smile, as the edges of his mouth twitched. The founder of the Order of the Phoenix dipped his head in acknowledgment as he too rose from his chair and smiled.

"But of course, Mr. Brennan. Can you think of anyone in mind?" he challenged, clasping his long fingers together in curiosity as he regarded the pair of men lingering in the door.

Ollie visibly cringed, feeling Remus's piercing but questioning stare practically burning a hole in the back of his skull.

"Ah, not at this time, I'm afraid," he muttered, his cheeks becoming high and flushed with color. "However, the moment I think of a suitable replacement for Mr. Lupin, you will be the first to know," Ollie promised solemnly, lowering his voice.

"Very well, it is settled then," Dumbledore decreed, maneuvering his way past the pair of younger men, his set of grey robes billowing behind him as he headed for the front door of Grimmauld Place. "I will leave the two of you to it, then. May your night watch be swift and uneventful, my dear gentlemen."

Remus and Ollie watched Professor Dumbledore turn on the heel of his grey boots and Disapparate from Headquarters with the familiar loud resounding _crack_! of someone Apparating, before turning towards Ollie, a slight smile on his scarred face.

"Whenever you're ready," Lupin muttered in a thoughtful voice, though Ollie sensed trouble brewing just underneath the surface, given by the way the man tensed and looked suddenly uncomfortable, though he was sure he would find out what was ailing him in a mere matter of moments. Ollie let out a sigh.

"Let's go," he replied, and Remus nodded, turning, and vanishing at precisely the same spot that Dumbledore had stood only moments ago, heading towards the rooftop across the way from Augustus Rookwood's house located in downtown Sussex.

Ollie did not immediately follow in Remus Lupin's footsteps to appear at his partner's side, left alone for a moment to ponder the events of the last few moments, and the possibilities that were to come. He had thought that his destiny was to be an Order member alongside Lupin and Tonks, but…

But if he was to be appointed a new partner soon, then perhaps he had been wrong. It was this thought that plagued him and began to take root in his mind, that troubled him even as he turned on the heel of his black boot and followed in Remus Lupin's footsteps to head for the rooftop to talk things out with the man.

He could only hope that whatever it was Remus wanted to discuss with him, that they could still remain at least civil towards one another, if not perhaps even friends…

He could only hope.

* * *

Tonks stood silently watching him. In her subtle fierceness and strong, independent spirit, Nymphadora looked every bit the proud Auror that Ollie had always known his best friend to be, yet her face was so sullen, it sent a chill down Ollie's spine.

Behind him, the Department of Mysteries lay in a smoldering ruin. Tonks's deep, pleading, pale gray orbs pierced his soul. Ollie mouthed Nymphadora's name, but Tonks could not hear his voice.

Ollie longed to reach out to his best friend, to save her life. He stretched out a trembling hand to touch Dora's face. He tried his hardest to reach her, but the distance between the two of them only grew with each of Ollie's attempts. Suddenly, Tonks began to fade from Ollie's view.

He screamed his best friend's name. It was like watching Dora leave him and being powerless to stop it from happening.

As she vanished, Tonks's sweet image was replaced by that of Remus John Lupin, his best friend's new partner, and object of her affections, the one link that connected the two wizards.

Then in the silence, as Nymphadora Tonks disappeared completely from his view, through the mysterious veil that remained in the Department of Mysteries, he screamed for her.

Again, her name was ripped from his lips. And again, Ollie was met with silence. A figure emerged from the darkness before him.

Yet did not fully cross into the light. A face that he was quick to recognize as the towering man much older than him, in his mid-forties, stepped from the shadows to the light.

Greyback's brother. Ollie screamed something inaudible, though his words were lost in his roaring eardrums filled with a deafening, fatigued ringing, and he had no time to react as the werewolf's older brother raised his wand, pointed it squarely at his chest—

Ollie jolted back to reality, his mouth half-agape as he bolted upright to a standing position. His lungs, starved for breath, gasped in oxygen, but the crisp fall air around them burned with a horrible purity that he did not like at all. He did not shudder nor give a startled cry of surprise, but lifted his head rather sanguinely, and glanced around his surroundings.

He'd accidentally dozed off. How his mind could twist and warp the reality of the events that had happened a few weeks ago. He shook, _rattled_ , as visions of Dora's face from his nightmares plagued his subconscious.

He was beginning to have difficulty ascertaining the reality of his days when awake with the horrors of his nightmares. He could no longer tell which were real, and which were phantasms playing a sport of his own troubled mind. He grimaced, tearing his cobalt blue orbs away from the utterly terrifying images, just flashes in his mind, as though he were looking at them through a Pensieve.

The Department of Mysteries. Lord Voldemort. _Her_ face.

Ollie simply could not get those ghastly images out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. He wondered why Merlin had forsaken him so.

In a groggy stupor, Ollie walked towards the edge of the rooftop, where Lupin sat in a pensive manner. He swallowed down hard, drenched in sweat, his chest still heaving as he struggled to regulate his breathing back to something that resembled normalcy, he blinked with disbelief at the clarity that filled his mind as he swore he felt Remus Lupin's gaze piercing the back of his skull, hotter than any Dark Mark could ever brand.

If he were ever to move on from Tonks, now he understood it what it was that the man needed to do tonight.

But that did not necessarily mean that this was going to be an easy conversation to be had, Ollie knew, as his heart still felt like it was pounding so loud in his chest, he swore Lupin heard.

As he slowly sank to the floor of the rooftop and sat cross-legged next to the older man and werewolf, the young former Slytherin held a forlorn, positively morose expression on his pale, handsome features. The silence between the two men was more than deafening.

A feeble ringing filled his fatigued ears. Ollie found the quiet and still darkness on this freezing rooftop outside of Death Eater Augustus Rookwood's home an unwelcome burden, as the dark-haired, blue-eyed man fought desperately to keep thoughts of Nymphadora Tonks from his mind, forcing his chest to rise and fall as he struggled to breathe.

Sucking in the night air pushed down the lump rising in his throat as it hollowed and constricted and filled the hole in his heart. He willed his mind to think of nothing as he restlessly paced the rooftop, clinging to the small shred of dignity left.

His fists balled tightly against his anger, the poor man's chest practically heaving for calm, and Ollie knew without a shadow of a doubt in his mind that he would spend another long dark chasm of this night alongside his new partner, Remus Lupin, on an overnight mission to keep himself from sinking into an anguished misery over thoughts that Dora loved someone else.

A someone that was _not_ him, he thought angrily. The air around the two wizards was chilled as the autumn leaves of late September softly rode the bitter London breeze.

The town of Sussex rested peacefully through the late night. Not a single voice or sound was heard aside from the swaying of the tall dark oak trees that lined the medieval town.

Ollie flushed as he felt Remus slowly swivel his head to regard him in silence.

He had liked to think he had worked out his differences with the werewolf, but still, his heart wrenched when he thought of the man touching his best friend, kissing Tonks the way that he himself had once hoped to be able to do.

An abrupt bitterness seeped its way unbidden to the surface.

_Remus_. Lupin was the reason Tonks did not return his affections, though a lump had formed in his throat as his breaths caught and died upon his tongue.

" _No_ ," he whispered in a hoarse croak that caused Lupin to quirk his brows in worry his way, though Ollie ignored it for now. He shook his head violently as he was quick to dismiss these incriminating thoughts from his mind. He could not, _would_ not, blame someone else for something that Remus Lupin was not at all responsible for.

Resentment welled within his chest hotter than any dragon fire could flame, hard as much as Ollie tried to suppress these difficult feelings.

Simply because he had been denied a life of happiness and comfort with his best friend did not mean that he ought to wish Remus had been too, and yet, at the mere sight of the man, his insides lurched as a coil deep in his gut twisted.

"Ollie?" questioned Lupin in a cautious manner, the younger man's name leaving the werewolf's lips rather awkwardly.

Well, the Legilimens and former Slytherin decided resignedly, he could not ignore Remus Lupin forever. Not when it was just the two of them, up here, at the top of the world.

Turning reluctantly at the waist to face Lupin, Ollie merely grunted wordlessly in response, folding his arms across his chest, and waited for Remus to elaborate why, after tonight, he would no longer be his partner in the Order of the Phoenix.

" _What_?" He was aware his voice sounded rough and uninviting, but Ollie couldn't control it at the moment. He fell silent and waited for Lupin to elaborate further. "What is it?"

"If I could speak with you candidly for a moment?" Remus pressed, his gaze unabashed and unwavering as he looked at Ollie.

It was clear to Ollie from the sudden warbling note in the man's quiet, reserved voice that this was not a man who was necessarily used to asking permission to speak his mind.

Ollie shrugged his shoulders in what he hoped was a nonchalant way.

"Sure." His voice, he recognized, sounded cold and uninviting, and he visibly flinched, hoping Lupin hadn't noticed. As he glanced sideways out of the corner of his blue eyes at the man, he realized a fraction of a second too late, that he had, as it happened, if the hurt look on Lupin's face was anything to go off of.

And Tonks, it was hard to believe, was in love with this man, this werewolf. Letting out a sigh, Ollie reluctantly cleared his throat and tried again.

"What is it that you wanted to speak to me about, Lupin? Why aren't we partners anymore after tonight?" he pressed, hoping his tone did not sound accusatory.

The last thing he wanted was to pick a fight.

"I wanted to speak to you alone. I—I didn't want gossip to circulate. I hope you can understand." Remus sounded quite surprised and somewhat flustered as he responded. "I just thought that, given our interest in Tonks, how you are her best friend since your Hogwarts days, that you'll want to hear what I need to say to you," he began in a cautious and timid manner.

Ollie scoffed. _I think I won't, Lupin_ , he thought resentfully to himself, taking small comfort in knowing the wizard and werewolf standing before him was not a Legilimens as he was.

He was grateful the older man couldn't read his mind. If he possessed the ability, it would surely only drive a deep wedge between the two men, and he didn't want that. For Tonks' sake.

Remus paused, looking out at the village below them, keeping his gaze fixated upon Rookwood's surprisingly modest home, appearing extremely hesitant for several long minutes, before the older man evidently found his words, and began to speak.

"It shouldn't come as a surprise to you that I want to marry Dora, Mr. Brennan," he spoke up in a somber voice.

Ollie froze, feeling something within himself tighten as his throat hollowed and constricted, as did his chest as his heart pounded loudly against its cage of bone and cartilage.

Yes, he knew. _Merlin_ , but did he _know_. He had caught the longing little glances the two of them exchanged during Order meeting briefings when he believed no one to be looking, but he was.

Ollie had promised himself that he would not interfere when this time would come, as it inevitably would, but then, never had he suspected that Lupin would pull something like this, either.

Was this the reason why he no longer wanted him as a partner in the Order? Because he perceived him to be a threat?

The two men _had_ worked out their differences with one another, or so Ollie had been led to believe.

The day after the scuffle in the Department of Mysteries, the two men had an hour's long conversation outside of Tonks's hospital room in St. Mungo's discussing just exactly this, the nature of his relationship with Tonks, how the two had been best friends since their second year of Hogwarts, and almost inseparable.

Was this werewolf sitting next to him truly so cruel as to deny him the one true pleasure in an otherwise desolate, lonely, miserable existence that he currently had the pleasure to hold?

Would Remus _really_ demand of Ollie that, once the two became engaged, that he would stay away from his best mate?

And what could he _do_ with that sort of a request? Should he speak up and out against this demand of Lupin's that Ollie was sure to come, and ruin this for Nymphadora, when her entire life she had sought to find a man who would accept her just the way that she was, use of her Metamorphmagus powers notwithstanding, and now that she had found just that in Remus, who was Ollie to ruin things for his beloved best friend?

_No_. Ollie gave his head a curt shake to clear it and carded his hands through his thick tuft of short black hair that was wild and disheveled, and had, on many occasions, reminded several Order members, especially Lupin and Tonks's, of Potter's hair.

He wouldn't be selfish. He would agree to this, whatever 'this' was. For Tonks, and only for Tonks. But not for Lupin…

"I am aware," he answered in a rough, grating voice, still not looking at Lupin, finding it easier instead to look out upon Rookwood's home. Anything to avoid Remus seeing the antagonizing hurt that brimmed as moisture in his blue eyes.

"And…" Lupin paused for a moment to dip into the pocket of his grey trousers, procuring a simple, but quite elegant, plain yellow gold ring.

He turned it over in his palm and silently handed it towards Ollie, who accepted it numbly, studying the delicate little thing in the palm of his calloused hands.

"And I wanted to speak with you about it before I propose to her." Ollie nodded mutely, lowering his gaze to the ring in his hand.

For just a brief moment, as jealousy swelled through Ollie's chest and in his veins, he was tempted to heft back his arm and chuck the ring over his shoulder and watch in a sick, immensely satisfying gratitude as the ring plummeted to the streets a hundred or so feet below them, but he did not.

Without a word, he handed the ring back to Lupin, who took it gratefully and pocketed the piece of jewelry for safekeeping. Ollie felt a muscle in his jaw tense and tighten.

Here it was. The reason why Remus did not want him as his partner in the Order anymore. The demand to stay away from Tonks was bloody coming, the boy could utterly _feel_ it.

And Ollie could and would do nothing to stop it from happening. He would only his only other friend in this life alongside Charlie Weasley to be forcefully removed from his life and—and

"I just wanted to ask your feelings on this matter, Mr. Brennan, before I act on it." Judging by the face Remus Lupin made, it was evident to Ollie that Lupin was _not_ enjoying this topic of conversation and wished to resolve things quickly.

This was…not exactly something that Ollie had expected from the wizard and werewolf at all. Why should Remus care how he felt?

" _What_?" he asked numbly, having trouble believing the words that were coming out of Remus Lupin's mouth.

"Tonks and I…" elaborated Remus, blowing out a breath of exasperation as he spoke the young witch's name with such a tenderness that caused Ollie's jealousy to seep unbidden to the surface, though he forced himself to swallow the bitter bile that had lingered upon his tongue. "I _know_ that you care for Dora. I know that she's your best friend, and I would never ask you to stop seeing her, I hope that you know that. I just want to be sure that there are no…" Lupin paused and looked away for a moment as he needed a moment to locate the right word, " _difficult_ feelings, if you will, between us, Mr. Brennan. I know that Tonks cares for you deeply, more than she cares to admit, and were it not for your quick reflexes and quick thinking a few weeks ago in the Department of Mysteries, I would have lost her forever, and I will be forever grateful and, in your debt, sir."

Ollie shook his head vehemently in protest.

"There's no need for this, Lupin," he protested. "I—I was just doing what any good friend would do. You would have done the same for me, I hope," he added, turning his head to look at Lupin in astonishment as the men remembered Ollie saving Dora's life last minute from one of Fenrir Greyback's blood relatives.

Lupin nodded. "I don't wish to put Tonks through the trials of both a feuding friend and a fiancé. For her sake, I would like to try to put aside our differences, and that was why I suggested you and I take the night watch tonight. I just want to be absolutely clear on this. Will you hate me if I marry her?"

Ollie froze, feeling his face drain of what little color was left in it, to begin with. A million and one thoughts raced through the Legilimens' mind at this last question. There were several answers that he could give the werewolf, Ollie thought.

This man sitting beside him on this rooftop outside Rookwood's home wanted to marry the only witch he ever loved, his best friend, for Merlin's sake, and for a moment, Ollie didn't think he could live with this decision if Dora married him.

He wanted to deny the wizard and werewolf the privilege, the bliss of a happy wedded life, as he at first believed that Remus John Lupin was not a man who deserved a life of simplicity.

Jealousy tore at Ollie's soul and heart, ripping through him with more force than any Cruciatus or Unforgiveable Curse ever could, and Ollie knew he wouldn't hate the werewolf if he chose to marry Tonks.

He _already_ hated the man, because Remus Lupin had everything that Ollie had ever wanted for himself. Though just as quickly as these dark swirling thoughts began to take root in his mind, his thoughts spluttered to a complete standstill, and he gnashed his teeth in annoyance.

Ollie knew he was acting like a fool to be so selfish.

He could not put his best friend, the witch that he loved, through this. But he could, however, put Lupin through this, if only for a moment to watch the man writhe and squirm at Ollie's words.

"I want Tonks," he began, choosing his words slowly, as though he were speaking as a man who only just learned how to.

Yes, this much was the honest-to-Merlin truth, that much he could not deny nor attempt to lie to Lupin about his feelings. Ollie could see something hardening in the other man's light brown eyes as they darkened for a brief second in anger.

"…to be _happy_ , Remus," he finished. And this, even more so than his first statement, was truer still. He swallowed and forced himself to continue. He would let Tonks go with Remus. Because he loved her. "If it isn't me that makes Dora happy, then so be it. She's my friend, Remus. Nothing more, and nothing less than that, I can assure you."

The man's hardened light brown eyes widened and then softened as his brain processed Ollie Brennan's words.

"You…you mean this, Mr. Brennan? You aren't lying to me?"

"Why would I lie?" Ollie asked, staring at Lupin with an incredulous look of disbelief on his pale, handsome features. "You did not lie to me, sir, and now, I won't lie to you, Remus. I know that you'll give Tonks anything she could ever want…" Ollie swallowed down hard past the lump in his throat with some difficulty. "And I promise, going forward, whether we remain partners in the Order or not, that I will try my absolute hardest to treat you as a friend, Lupin. I can give you my _word_."

He felt Remus stun at his compliment, though the older wizard was quite effective at hiding it.

"Thank you," Remus said briskly after a long moment's pause, reaching out with his left hand to shake Ollie's. For a moment, they sat together on the rooftop, their hands clasped in each other's, something resembling a smile danced across both their faces in the moonlight. "It will be an honor to call you my friend, Oliver."

Ollie groaned as he let go of Lupin's hand and let his hands fall to rest awkwardly in his lap as he sat cross-legged on the rooftop. "Please _don't_ call me that. Just Ollie, Remus…"

Lupin nodded, his light brown eyes twinkling as he swiveled his gaze back around to continue their surveillance of well-known Death Eater Augustus Rookwood's old home.

Ollie saw Remus open his mouth slightly to speak, though whatever words he was about to say next to the man died the moment a loud, piercing scream rent the otherwise silent air.

Ollie and Lupin's ears perked up at the noise. A woman's scream came from the street below, behind Rookwood's house.

The scream tore through Ollie like a shard of glass. He felt his eyes widen and pulse quicken in his veins as he bolted to his feet, Lupin following suit, his heart thudded like a rock rattling in a box.

The scream came again, desperate, terrified… _dying_ …

"What _is_ that?" Ollie exclaimed violently, glancing at Lupin out of the corner of his eye, noticing just how pale the werewolf had become, and it wasn't even the full moon yet this month.

The blood drained from Ollie's face, and before the young man even became cognizant of what he was doing, ignoring Lupin's protests and shouts for the Legilimens to wait for him, he turned on the heel of his black boot and Disapparated to the street below him, his wand clutched tightly in an iron grip in front of him.

His ears strained for more sounds, more clues as to where the woman's screams had come from, listening for anything that might give away this woman's position. Whoever they were, they were in grave danger...

A shout of pain, the cry of her voice again, Rookwood's voice if he was behind it…

Ollie had no clue as to what he would do when he got there, just that he had to get there _fast_ …


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

**DISTANT** thunder loomed overhead as black and purple rolling thunderclouds threatened the promise of a storm.

A lone, feminine figure stood at the crossroads, the figure short in stature, admittedly so, yet her presence near stiffing. Yet, for her somewhat overwhelming presence, the figure, though she would never admit it, was quite lost and at a loss.

For the better part of the last hour and a half, since she had Disapparated to…wherever ' _here'_ happened to be for her, werewolf Norah Jameson had wandered aimlessly, searching for the one place that she could not seem to reach, nor find.

The man under her father's command, one of Greyback's men that he trusted, had not been as clear as he could have been when giving directions on how to try to find the

Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix. Merlin damn the man to hell, as he had also likely neglected to mention the little fact that there were probably enchantments set in place, a Secret-Keeper, perhaps, that would prevent the place from being found.

Norah did not appreciate being made a bloody fool of. She particularly did not enjoy being made lost or feeling turned around.

She despised weakness of any sort, especially that of herself. "Merlin _damn_ you, Mundungus Fletcher!"

The curse left the wolf's lips as a low, warning growl, and she thought if she ever set eyes upon the beady-eyed worm again, that Norah would quite like to _strangle_ the man for his ineptitude at being able to give concise, _followable_ , directions.

As the young woman stood in the middle of the street, a residential neighborhood in the medieval town of Sussex, by the looks of things, her worn hand tugged on the straps of her black leather bag, her fingers curling into a tight fist over her bag, really hoping she wouldn't have to draw her wand in the event she ran into anything—or _anyone_ —unfriendly out here.

A certain uneasiness filled her chest as the young blonde witch had to crane her neck to look at the silhouettes of the homes against the night sky. She rose a shaky hand to one of her tired eyes and rubbed slowly over the smooth surface of her skin. A scattered sigh escaped Jameson's cracked lips.

" _Wolf_!" Someone called out from behind her, breaking the silence. Norah furrowed her brows in a frown.

_Yes_ , she was a werewolf, but that didn't mean she had to acknowledge and stand for being addressed as such. She _had_ a name, and surely, whoever it was, walking, was talking to someone else. Someone that obviously wasn't her.

Norah let out a huff of indignation and curled her fingers around the strap of her black leather purse, the only bag she'd brought with her, though she had enchanted the thing with an Extendable Charm and put what she could carry, inside. She didn't have much, but for Jameson, it was more than enough.

Norah quickened her pace and chose to step out of the middle of the street and onto the sidewalk where there were, at least at minimum, lit streetlamps in case she ran into trouble.

" _Hey_! You in the black lace dress! I'm talkin' to you!" The rough, mocking voice shouted from somewhere behind.

Norah felt her cheeks begin to burn. She was, in fact, as it happened, wearing a black lace dress.

Norah, sensing she would not be able to ignore the stranger for much longer, inhaled a small breath as she slowly turned around, swallowing nervously the moment the young blonde wolf saw an uncomfortably familiar Death Eater standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the werewolf with his thick arms crossed over his chest, a bemused expression on his pale face.

The young blonde let out a barely audible gasp and shrunk down as she looked up towards the encroaching figure.

Her eyes widened and became as round as saucers as she looked wildly to the left and right, seriously considering contemplating dropping Greyback's stupid plan and Disapparating, making a run for it.

Norah was not about to get caught in the crosshairs of Death Eater Rookwood's temper.

"Rookwood, damn. I hoped it wasn't you," she whispered in a hoarse voice. "I um, can't stay. I—I should go," Norah suggested, her voice small.

She suddenly wished for nothing more than a hole in the sidewalk beneath her black heeled boots would open up and swallow her whole, and not let her re-emerge until Rookwood left.

" _Go_?" he mocked in a lilting tone, cocking his head to the side and regarding the blonde werewolf as though he were an interesting specimen he had captured from a magical menagerie and was not at all sure what to do. He pouted, feigning mock disappointment. "You just _got_ here, Jameson."

Norah visibly cringed, hoping her fear wasn't evident on her face as Augustus Rookwood's smile plastered on his face widened even more if such a thing was humanly possible.

The werewolf fought back the urge to scrunch her nose in disgust and make a face towards one of the Dark Lord's better-known lieutenants, at least, now that Crouch was long dead…

Merlin, but everything about this precarious situation Norah now found herself in was so horribly _awkward_.

She weighed her options of turning on the heels of her boots and Disapparating to someone else, taking her chances anywhere else, if it meant she could escape the Death Eater, but she could tell by the indignant, angered look in Rookwood's eyes, that the man had no intention of letting Norah leave him.

At least, not _yet_. She was trapped under the streetlamp. With _him_.

Norah shuddered as a cold chill of revulsion went down her spine, though she fought it back, knowing if she allowed the man to see it, it would make things that much worse for herself.

But was there no _end_ to her hellish life? Apparently not, and Norah could not help but curse Fenrir Greyback, that monster who ordered her to call him Father. It seemed an eternity before Rookwood spoke up.

"You're _lost_ , Jameson?" he barked in a rough voice.

"Mmm?" Norah blanched as she felt her face drain of what little color was left, confused by this Death Eater's words.

And then she remembered.

"O—oh," she stammered, feeling the heat creep to her cheeks. "I—I was just looking for…a _place_ …" she murmured under her breath, not sure just how much of Greyback's plan she could divulge, if any of it at all, to him.

Rookwood let out a dark little chuckle as it escaped his chest, throat, and lips, and something akin to amusement seemed to ignite as a light behind the man's dark green eyes.

"You are… _lost_ , wolf," Rookwood said slowly, letting the words roll off his fluid tongue. "How can you _possibly_ be lost? Are you a witch, or _aren't_ you? Use your wand, little dove…."

Oh, but she already _had_ , unbeknownst to Rookwood or he'd have not suggested it, and without the address or the Secret-Keeper revealing the location of the Order's Headquarters, Norah Jameson, like it or not, would _stay_ lost.

"Ah, th—thank you for your concern, Mr. Rookwood. I already _tried_ that, and it didn't work. I—if you'll excuse me, you seem… _distracted_ ," she mumbled, her blush intensifying as Norah actively averted Rookwood's piercing gaze that threatened to burn the back of her skull as she turned away.

Though before the young werewolf could so much as take a half-step forward, she felt a pair of rough hands grab her firmly by the shoulders and pull her roughly back onto the cracked and broken sidewalk, causing her to almost falter in her footing.

" **HEY**!" she shouted, biting down on her bottom lip as Rookwood spun her around to face him.

She looked up at him with a frown. She hoped this man under her 'father' had a reasonable explanation for his behavior towards her just now, and that he would tell her what he wanted pretty quickly because Norah was beginning to feel perturbed, not to mention, increasingly uncomfortable in his company.

If there was something Rookwood wanted of her, why didn't he just spit it out and say it? Why need to be rough?

Some men under her father's command, well, over ninety percent of them just so happened to be creeps, in her mind, and while Jameson liked to think she knew Rookwood well enough to not have to worry about… _that_ …with _him_ , lately, she was starting to feel not so certain, especially now.

The look he was shooting her suggested that he was angry with Norah. Letting out a pained gasp, the blonde werewolf inhaled sharply.

Norah wasn't even aware she was holding in her breath until she felt herself exhale a shaking, pained breath as Rookwood cupped Jameson's delicate chin in his strong grip, tilting her head slightly to the right, forcing the young witch to meet his hardened, stony, and quite a cold gaze of anger.

"You say that you are _lost_ , girl, that you cannot find your way. Perhaps I can help you to become _un_ -lost, don't you think? After all, it isn't safe for a pretty little witch-like yourself to be wandering the streets at night, love, never know the types of _scoundrels_ you'll run into," he crooned.

Augustus Rookwood sounded offended, and he certainly looked it as Norah pulled a face and scrunched her nose.

Norah silently bristled, resisting the urge to stomp her foot in frustration.

She was not going to have any of this.

She had a mission, a goal, and this man was standing, quite literally in the way of that, though her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach as she dared to meet the Death Eater's piercing gaze, and she was quick to decide she did not like the look of anger in the man's darkening green eyes like that of moss.

"Scoundrels?" Norah snorted. "You mean like _yourself_?" Jameson asked, her tone piercing and practical. She knew all too well what kind of man Augustus Rookwood was. A brute.

The man seemed to not know what to say in response to such a statement and raised his eyebrows in alarm at Jameson.

Norah tilted her chin upward in a stubborn, set manner and made a move to shove past the Death Eater, intent on searching for the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters, _alone_.

Before she knew what had happened, Rookwood grabbed her rather roughly by her shoulder and pulled her back to him. She let out a gasp of annoyance and startled pain, grasping at her shoulder that had been roughly manhandled with her other hand.

Was every single one of her father's men under his command _always_ this rude like this?!

Norah was starting to think that this was to be the case… But Augustus Rookwood was not about to let her go.

"What's your _rush_ , Jameson? Stay with me for a while. You said you're _lost_ , my dear. Well. Then, allow me to please help you to become _un_ -lost," he commanded more than begged, causing Norah to struggle and wriggle to break free.

"Ngh—let _go_ of me!" the young blonde witch demanded, not really sure what in Merlin's name had come over her just now, and how, unless she could reach for her wand in her bag, she was possibly going to ward this man back away from her.

She did not see why Rookwood was so intent on her sticking around. It wasn't as if she had ever accidentally given off signals that she was interested in the man or anything…

Almost as if the Death Eater could read her mind—was Rookwood a Legilimens? —Rookwood offered the young witch a wry smile, though it did not reach his green eyes.

"Because, little dove, you look like you could use…a _friend_ ," the Death Eater answered simply, and did not smile, much less flinch, as Norah felt her jaw drop open in shock.

He continued, either oblivious to the young witch's shock or not caring. Probably the latter if Norah knew Rookwood.

"You _hide_ a lot, don't you? I can tell, dear. You have pretty blue eyes. Sad eyes for a _disgusting werewolf_ ," he spat, the briefest hints of disgust at what Norah was laced throughout his deep voice.

This was twice in the span of a single night that Jameson had been rendered utterly speechless, at a total loss for words, unable to think of an apt response to give to Rookwood.

"I…." Norah spluttered and stammered to think of a response, but all that came out was a strangled attempt at speech. "Th—that's _none_ of your business, _Death Eater_!" she spat the man's title as though it were poison that had settled upon her tongue. "Who do you think you _are_ , you—you…"

But her voice trailed off as the man's smirk widened, and she could tell the gesture was ill meant.

"Calm down, wolf. I meant nothing by it."

Norah bristled. Then what _had_ he meant? The young blonde witch struggled against the tall Death Eater's hold, taking a few faltering steps backward, careful not to trip over her dress's hem as the man advanced.

His large, rough fingers latched onto her slim wrist and squeezed.

"Rookwood, _please_ …" Norah brought herself to speak in a shaking voice as she put both hands on the man's burly chest and weakly tried to push the Death Eater away.

She could feel her entire body trembling. She was scared and felt pretty betrayed if she was being honest with herself.

Why would one of Alpha's followers even _do_ this to her?

Norah closed her eyes tightly shut. It didn't seem like Rookwood was going to let her go, nor did he seem intent on letting the young woman reach for her bag, for he reached with almost groping fingers that looked more like claws to her and slid the strap of her bag off her shoulder and chucked it.

" _Hey_! Give it _back_ , Rookwood! Why did you throw it?!" she shouted, furrowing her brows in a frown as she glanced over her shoulder with a worried look as he threw her black purse over his shoulder and into a nearby bush.

_Just great._ Norah inwardly groaned.

Rookwood sneered as the Dark Lord's follower allowed his green eyes to slide over Jameson's body, adding up the pluses and minuses of the wolf's figure like one of those complex Muggle mathematical equations in his reeling head.

If the girl ranked high enough, he would put her in his sights, line her up with the others in the Dark Lord's ranks that he wanted to add to his list, but mostly, just the _dog_.

Though the man himself did not particularly like werewolves, abhorred them, as a matter of fact, something about the elusive, fair-skinned blonde adopted daughter of Fenrir Greyback was calling to Rookwood to keep her here.

The Death Eater quickly decided the little she-wolf was a nine. He, naturally, was a ten. Rookwood decided Jameson's only reason for being a nine and not a perfect ten were due to two things.

Her shy and quiet, reserved personality, and her mouth, which if she did not learn to keep that in check around him, was going to get her into serious trouble one day, for there were punishments among the Dark Lord's ranks for witches, wolves or otherwise, who did not learn their place.

There might come a day when the young witch found herself in a dire spot of trouble that she wouldn't be able to get out of, and Rookwood wouldn't be around to save the werewolf from being paraded around like a freakish _pet_.

Augustus Rookwood tightened his grip on Norah's wrist and raised her arm above her head, slamming the young witch against the cold pole of the lighted streetlamp behind her.

Jameson flinched, squeezing her eyes shut at the swell of pain that stung and sent a white-hot flare of lighting up and down her back. That was surely a pulled muscle, at the least.

_Someone_ , she begged. _Anyone_ …

But no help was coming. She _needed_ her wand. That was the only way she could get out of this _mess_ , and since Rookwood had chucked her bag beyond her reach, she couldn't get to her purse and grab it.

No, in order to get out of this, she'd need a bloody miracle.

Jameson knew that her only way out of this was to keep him talking, to stall her father's comrade if and when until help came.

" _Please_ …" Norah gasped in a tiny, frightened whisper, let out a low wolfish whine that sounded reminiscent of a dog making a wounded noise after it had been kicked by its master.

She was beginning to feel more trapped and hopeless by the second as her gaze darted wildly to the left and right.

"Rookwood, d—don't do this to me," Norah begged, feeling tears spring to her eyes despite her best efforts to quell them.

She never thought she would have to beg Father's friend not to do this to her, and no longer felt hopeful that talking to the man was going to do her any good by the look in his eyes.

Pulling her hands into fists, Jameson pushed uselessly against his chest one last time before finally giving up with a frustrated whimper.

Fighting back was doing her no good.

Rookwood was not going to let her go. Rookwood's smile lasted until his head swiveled back around to regard her, having looked to their immediate left, thinking he'd heard a noise.

All the previous 'charm' from the last time Norah had been in the man's company was during a meeting with Fenrir.

If Jameson could even call his 'charm' that at all, was gone.

His mouth had formed a rigid grimace, the green sparkle in the Death Eater's eyes that was usually found within, now extinguished like a snuffed-out candle's flame.

Rookwood moved in close enough so that she could practically feel his hot breath upon her neck, and this caused the fine hairs on the back of Jameson's neck to stand up, and she stiffened.

"Why don't you come along with _me_ , girl," Rookwood breathed, his green eyes alight with a sudden excitement that had been missing before that Jameson knew she didn't like. "I can take you away from your father, wolf. You'd never have to go back. Wouldn't you like that? You'd be my little _pet_ …"

Jameson drew in a sharp breath that pained her bruised ribcage that still stung from where he had forcefully shoved her up against the streetlamp's post as he swept over her ear.

Norah let out a hiss and shoved the man violently away, as hard as she could muster, which admittedly wasn't very much, as she was still considerably weak coming down from her latest transformation, so what little strength she did possess, wasn't much, to begin with, or to boast of, really.

Not that shoving the Death Eater backward and making a beeline for the bush that Rookwood had tossed her purse behind to grab her wand was really much of an escape plan.

This man outweighed her by several stones, and was, naturally, a lot stronger and bulkier than she was.

For just a brief moment, Norah found herself wishing for the full moon for the first time in her life.

Though her transformations were incredibly painful, considering none of her kind could afford the expensive ingredients required to make the Wolfsbane Potion she needed, it would be worth the excruciating pain to allow the she-wolf that she knew she really was, to come forth, to break free of its chains and to sink her teeth into Rookwood's neck.

Norah swallowed nervously, craning her neck up to look at Rookwood.

There just… _had_ to be a way that she could make Rookwood see that what the man was doing to her was wrong.

The young witch felt a cold chill of fear travel down her spine and a wash of cold come over her entire body, as though Rookwood had doused her in ice water.

"What…" She felt like she could barely speak as her energy suddenly felt sapped from her body.

Whatever Dark magic Rookwood was using on the werewolf was having an effect.

"What…are you… _doing_ to me…?" Norah managed to gasp out in a fearful but angered hoarse whisper. "Stop…please…"

"Hush, now. Be a _good_ little wolf and stay quiet," Rookwood shushed Jameson by putting a calloused finger to her lips and effectively silencing the young blonde witch.

He was not looking at all sane at the moment.

In fact, Augustus Rookwood was looking quite deranged. Two-day stubble gracing his jawline and chin. His cheekbones in the dim light emanating from the flickering streetlamp above their heads held an emaciated look, sunken in and hollow.

His tuft of short, curly dark brown hair was wild and stuck up in every which way, seeming to have a mind of its own, though his bangs needed trimming long ago and hung in his eyes.

Speaking of his eyes, it was the man's eyes that scared Jameson the most, though she would rather die than ever admit it to anyone else, especially not to the man himself.

The second Jameson looked into Rookwood's eyes, it was like there was nothing there to behold.

She could not see the whites of his eyes nor the vessels that flowed through them. They were the depths of Tartarus themselves, holding a thousand souls, yet there were none to be seen, at least not in the man's eyes.

She gulped and swallowed past the lump forming in her throat that threatened to close off her passageways.

Jameson knew she ought not to be staring at the Death Eater like this, for it might provoke him. Still…there had to be a way to reach him, if there was any good in him, she had to try to reach it.

"Rookwood, _please_ …" she begged pitifully.

"What?" he snapped meanly, no semblance of warmth in his tone.

Norah tried again. "No…I-if you have any respect for me, you'll leave," she growled through gritted teeth. "O-or I'll scream!" she warned, to which the Death Eater no doubt heard the warble in her voice, which had lowered an octave and was soft and timid, and very afraid.

"Go ahead," growled Rookwood darkly, shoving her back against the pillar again. " _Scream._ It's going to be your word against mine, accursed dog."

"But I'm not a—" Norah's insides went cold as she was cut off from protesting that she was _not_ a dog nor was she a bad person when she felt the Death Eater reach up with both his hands and began to tug at her dress, his strong fingers curling into fists around her dress. " _No_!"

If anything, that only incurred Rookwood's wrath further.

"I _know_ your kind, _werewolf_ ," he snarled, one of his hands finding purchase in the back of her head, one of his fingers toying with a strand of her hair.

Norah shuddered but refused to avert her gaze.

"What _am_ I?" she asked, quivering where she stood, but also incredibly furious, seething.

The Death Eater smirked, recognizing he was finally getting somewhere with this one.

He would have the girl for himself before the night was out, he was sure.

"I know women like you," he breathed angrily. "You're just a—a bit of rough from the streets, girl. Nothing but a street rat. There is no _man_ coming to save you. Not from… _this_. If you're smart, and I think you _are_ , Jameson. You'll stay quiet now…besides, a beautiful young woman such as yourself ought not to roam the streets after curfew, for it is not safe. Never know _who_ you'll run into…"

This was _not_ good.

Norah's stomach lurched and she fought back the urge to be sick. Still, she had to try to reason with this brute. It was her only chance of walking away from this unpleasant situation unharmed.

Otherwise…well, she didn't like to think of the alternative. She decided right then and there that she did not like how this Death Eater was talking to her, she didn't like it one bit.

He was very _clearly_ mocking her, _teasing_ her, the intonations of his voice almost suggested a childlike curiosity, the way he genuflected, and his green eyes grew unnaturally wide and glossy.

Rookwood reached up a surprisingly tender hand and began to caress her cheek. The intimacy of such a simple gesture caught her off guard and Norah felt her body shiver beneath Rookwood's touch. Norah trembled, hating to admit that, unwanted though his advances were, it strangely felt nice, and she hated herself for it. The skin of his palm was surprisingly smooth for a Death Eater.

The girl could only manage a breathy little squeak of terror as he seized her left wrist and shoved her up against the lamppost, re-injuring the back muscle she had already pulled the first time he did this. She let out a pained gasp of surprise and whimpered, clenching her eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see whatever was about to come next.

"You're going to do what I say if you value keeping that tongue of yours, _dog_ , that must be hung in the middle so it can wag at both ends like the dog we know you are. Stay silent and be _still_ ," the Death Eater growled threateningly, whispering it into the shell of her ear.

The light in the street, at least right now, was entirely too dim, and she could barely see Rookwood's face now, though his green eyes almost seemed to glow now, which frightened the young werewolf to no end.

"Do I need to say it _again_? Stay quiet and don't move. You will enjoy it, I can promise you that, pet. Don't make me say it a second time, _wolf_. I really _hate_ saying it a second time," Rookwood snarled, almost sounding bored. When she didn't answer, he continued. "Welcome to your new life, girl," snarled Rookwood, leaning off and closing the gap of space between the two of them, the tip of his slender nose almost touching hers. "A night full of lonely regrets. The world out there won't get any better for you or the rest of your kind, love," he sighed, looking away for a minute before turning back towards Norah, whose blue eyes were wide with fear.

The man let out a low warning growl from the back of his throat as he shoved her up against the pillar even harder, silently enforcing his intended message: Be quiet and be still…or else.

She didn't like to think what 'or else' meant in this case, though Norah knew she could guess.

She winced as he did so, definitely feeling a back muscle pull. The ache was dull as if some lazy torturer were standing right behind her, only applying enough pressure to be an annoyance, though, in Norah's case, her assailant was in front of her, and not behind her.

The pain just sat there, just to the side of the right shoulder blade, near her spine.

Norah likened it to lying on a large glass marble. Perhaps at first, it would be pleasant yet soon enough it would ache, just the same.

"Let _go_ of me, you—you witless _worm_!" she screamed, making sure her voice carried and reverberated.

She didn't know where _that_ little outburst had come from, but the very words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself, not thinking about the severe gravity of her situation.

Norah flinched as he reached up to his free hand that was not grasping onto her wrist to tuck back a wisp of her hair. She flinched and shirked away from Rookwood's touch.

Norah would have almost preferred if the Death Eater would just shout at her, do whatever it was that he was going to do to her here, and let her go free.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if she just…closed her eyes and took her mind someplace else, let him do whatever he wanted, and she'd stay alive…

"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" Rookwood complimented admirably.

" _What_ …?" She felt the color rapidly drain from her already pale face. Suddenly, she shook like a leaf, utterly terrified and at a loss for as to what to do.

No help was coming.

"Be quiet, _werewolf_ ," Rookwood growled angrily, his face paling in rage.

" _Please_ ," she whimpered as fright consumed every part of her body.

With every second, she could practically feel the rapid increase of her heartbeats, but she knew right now that was the very _least_ of her worries.

Norah lifted her gaze to meet the Death Eater's green eyes, what little of the man's impassive expression she could see provided by such dim light.

"Please don't do this to me, Rookwood," she croaked hoarsely. "I'll—I'll give you whatever you want. I-if it's _money_ , I—I have ten Galleons to my name and a couple of Sickles, Rookwood. I-it's _yours_ , just take it and leave me alone, _please_ ," she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks. She swallowed hard and glanced upwards at the man.

The Death Eater merely laughed, amusement in his cold, green eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart," he throatily crooned. "It was never about money, darling. I don't want your money. You're not one of those girls in Knockturn Alley who pay men for their… _services_ ," he added, a look of disgust on his face. "It's _you_ ," he breathed, and Norah knew then that she was in very serious trouble. "We're all we have, people like you and me, so why not take advantage of our time together," Rookwood said excitedly.

When Norah did not respond, he began to grow angry.

"It's what a girl like you is _made_ for," he sneered and reached up a hand.

She was not familiar with this unfamiliar feeling that began as a hot fire seed of anger deep within the pits of her stomach, but his last insult was the breaking point of Norah's patience waiting for help to come.

At the moment she was blinded by anger that currently overpowered her fear, the rage tasting bitter in her mouth but yet somehow it was strangely satisfying.

Norah somehow was able to wrench her arm free from Rookwood's grasp and drew her arm back as far as she possibly could take it.

The blonde had never punched anyone before, the Muggle way, so she was incredibly surprised at the pain that immediately flared and blazed up her arm as her fist connected with Rookwood's chiseled jaw.

She hadn't been thinking clearly when she let out her boiling anger and swung her fist. The impact was like thousands of venomous blades piercing apart her clammed fist. It led the young woman to one conclusion.

That it _hurt_.

Rookwood merely laughed, which chilled the girl's insides to ice. He gestured with his arms to the wide-open air around the two of them.

"That _all_ you got, Jameson, huh?" he jeered, sounding like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "I've not met a woman like you before. The she-wolf has _fire_ in her. I like that," Rookwood laughed. "Good. That'll be easy for me…I like my girls with a bit of fight in them."

Norah swallowed hard as she found her voice…and her resolve.

When she finally spoke, even she was surprised at the coldness laced throughout her normally kind, quiet voice.

"My _name_ ," she whispered, balling her hands into fists at her side as she continued retreating from the deranged Death Eater, "is Norah. Not _wolf_ , not _dog_ , or whatever else you call the women in your life. _If_ there _are_ any, you trash!" she snapped angrily, hardly daring to believe the words that were spewing out of her mouth like putrid venom

She let out a growl from the back of her throat, taking two steps towards Rookwood, jabbing a sharp finger in his chest, and propelling the Death Eater who towered over her back.

"As long as I'm around, and if you want me to treat you with _any_ semblance of kindness, though after what you just did, you don't deserve it," she demanded angrily, "Then you'll start to call me by my name. Norah Jameson, you _jerk_. Start _using_ it," she snapped, whirling around on the heel of her black leather boots, and storming off, but not before Rookwood let out a guttural growl from the back of his throat and a horrible roar.

The Death Eater's holler reverberated in the werewolf's ears like a clap of thunder, such was the man's rage.

It was a roar of pure fire, his rage.

A chill ran through Norah's spine as she whirled around, just in time to see the Death Eater rushing her, his wand raised squarely and level with her chest.

Adrenaline ran through her veins, pumping and beating like it was trying to escape.

Jameson thought her heart would explode, and her blue eyes were wide with fear and her feet felt rooted to the cracked and weathered sidewalk beneath her.

Her body was screaming at her to run, but instead, she remained where she was, utterly paralyzed by her fear.

Let's face it, there was only one thing she could do. Pray he didn't kill her.

A muscle in her jaw tensed and twitched and she clenched her eyes shut, scrunching her face, and turning it to the right while she waited for the inevitable backhanded blow of the man's cheek that would send her sprawling.

His hands instead reached out for her waist, coming up to grip almost painfully tight and the world around her seemed to rush by in a blur as she cried for help.

" _Someone, please! Help me_!" she screamed frantically. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, stinging and blurring her vision, making it almost impossible for her to discern where _he_ was.

She knew the pain was coming. It went by fast, yet slow, almost suspended. Then a hard impact as the young blonde werewolf finally hit the sidewalk. Norah felt her left ankle move in a way that it shouldn't, and she felt the pressure and she stifled a pained cry of surprise as the appendage twisted. Definitely not broken, at least not that she could tell, but sprained.

Father was _really_ going to be upset with her later on for this.

_At least all I have to do for his stupid plan is look pretty,_ she thought darkly, biting her tongue and tasting coppery blood that had lingered on her tongue as she bit down in the effort to keep from crying out in pain.

Rookwood was yelling something incoherent nearby. Without even having to look, she could feel the cut above her brow from where one of the emerald rings Father wore on his right hand had caught her earlier this morning reopen, and trickle beaded droplets of crimson, garish crimson in color on the cracked sidewalk in front of her.

Norah didn't move—anything to delay the part where she took in what she looked like now. Torn skin, a bruised and twisted ankle for sure. She could feel the bile rising at the back of her throat.

Norah tried to pinpoint exactly where Rookwood had disappeared to, for the first thing she noticed was that his strong hands no longer had a vice grip on her waist.

But when she made a move to attempt to sit up, let alone stand, it was quickly proven futile as another fiery pain pulsated from her ankle. Norah lay on the ground, her face closed in a grimace, her skin growing pale and clammy, beads of sweat forming upon her brow. Her blue eyes froze over like the surface of a winter puddle, robbing them of their usual warmth as she struggled and fought against the tides of blackness, the ebb and flow of nausea waves that washed over her body.

Sharp pains lanced through her head and colorful spots flashed in front of her eyes. It felt like her whole body had been badly beaten and every movement, especially the slightest twitch in her left ankle, ached terribly.

Regardless, she needed to get out of here, away from Rookwood…

Greyback's plan to seduce this Ollie Brennan character, whoever the hell this man happened to be, was just going to have to _wait_.

How could her Alpha expect her to 'use her wolfish charms,' when she could barely stand upright, let alone speak a cohesive thought when she was in so much pain?

Surely, he would understand... _right_?

Wincing in pain, she attempted to grab onto the pole of the streetlamp behind her for support but cried out in pain and quickly lowered her arm. Putting strain on her ankle was not wise for the time being, she decided. Blearily, she lifted her head and tried to focus her gaze a few feet from herself to focus on whatever was happening with Rookwood just now.

Jameson wanted to get a glimpse of this mysterious savior, for she could see another figure, albeit hidden in the shadows, had pinned the raving Death Eater up against the light post, and another person, another werewolf, she could smell him, the pheromones had joined as well, and was saying something in low murmurs to whoever had the Death Eater dead to rights against the post.

She could just barely make out a figure. Norah fought to keep her eyes open, the panicked Death Eater's swift scream that caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up having forced her from her state of semi-consciousness for just a brief moment.

Through the fog swirling in her mind as the darkness threatened to take her, she could see someone standing in front of her, _protecting_ her. Norah let out a tiny groan as it escaped her lips as she fought to lift her head, and even that throbbed and pounded against the back of her skull from where she had hit her head in the fall after twisting her ankle.

Merlin had answered her prayers, it would seem, and had sent her someone. Oh, how she wanted desperately to look upon her savior's face, though it hurt too much just to lift her head. What little she _could_ see of him, however, was rather, well… _odd_.

Yes, odd. There was no other word to describe it. The way he was standing seemed rather peculiar, and when the man lunged forward seemingly in an effort to protect her, it was revealed, albeit however blurred, that he walked with almost inhuman speed, similar to the way Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters moved when they locked sight on their targets, but the blonde had absolutely no time to get a better look as everything became fuzzy, and then the girl saw nothing at all.

Her consciousness drifted, a horrible ringing in her ears, which muffled the sound of Rookwood's screams and someone else.

Through the darkness as the thick wave of sweet, blissful relief reached for her with its blackened arms outstretched, Norah's heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in her eardrums, alongside fading pleas for help.

And then…the feeling in her body drained away until all was black.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

**REMUS** did not know what to make of this. Lupin did not think he could explain the events that had just occurred to himself, much less to the other Order members when they got back to the house if his life even depended on it.

Lupin could tell by one look on Mr. Brennan's face, that the young dark-haired man was thinking the same thing that he was.

How had tonight come to this?

Though Lupin had no time to ponder it as he swiveled his head back around to the front, raising his wand with a steady hand and pointed it at Rookwood.

Before Rookwood could so much as allow one of the fingers of his wand hand to give a twitch as he prepared to raise his wand against Lupin, he heard a shout from Ollie.

A chill ran through Remus's spine as he heard the young man emit a low, threatening growl of his own that almost sounded wolfish.

It made Lupin shiver like a freezing cold wind would wake someone up. His blood ran cold and a bead of sweat dripped down his face as he slowly turned to the left to look.

And immediately, he almost wished that he hadn't.

Ollie Brennan's lethal stare towards Death Eater Augustus Rookwood felt painful and piercing as if his very glare were tearing Lupin's heart apart just by the power of a single look.

He tore his gaze away from Rookwood in time to see Ollie lunge forward with inhuman speed, resembling more of an infuriated animal gone wild and rabid than that of a man.

The younger man's fists were shaking, at least the one not clutching onto his wand, his pale, scarred, but still, a quite handsome face was contorted into such a look of fiery rage, that Lupin desperately wanted to tear his gaze away from it yet couldn't.

Ollie barely glanced backward at the young blonde witch that lay crumpled in a heap underneath the flickering streetlamp, though the man's unmistakable body language made it painstakingly clear to Rookwood that Ollie (and Remus, for that matter!) was _not_ planning on letting him get any closer to the girl than he already had.

Ollie gnashed his teeth together, not giving a damn what Rookwood thought.

"Are you going to kill me—" Rookwood snorted and started to say, his fingers twitching as they clutched tightly onto his wand, but that was all Lupin gave him time for before he raised his wand against Lord Voldemort's follower.

" _Expelliarmus_!" Lupin shouted and raised his hand to catch Rookwood's wand the moment it sailed out of his hand and into his own.

Ollie offered a silent nod of thanks before swiveling his head back around to regard the now unarmed Death Eater and let out a deep, low rumbling growl from within the confines of his chest, seizing onto fistfuls of his robes and shaking them, slamming the man violently against the streetlamp, much like he had done to the girl seconds ago.

Rookwood had little to no time at all to react before he felt one of Brennan's strong hands grip him by the pale column of his throat and lifted him a couple of feet off the ground.

For a young man of surely no older than twenty-nine or thirty or so, Jack Brennan's only son's strength was quite impressive.

Augustus Rookwood let out a startled yelp as he felt his body being tossed into the air, where his back collided against the deserted street.

Thank Merlin there were no oncoming Muggle cars or buses, or he'd have surely been hit by now.

The Death Eater cringed, blearily struggling to open his eyes and focus his gaze more than a few feet in front of himself, his vision coming back to him in ebbs and waves.

There was a horrible scream from deep within Ollie that forced its way from the young man's mouth as if his soul had unleashed some Dark demon.

It sent a chill down Lupin's spine.

Lupin kept his wand fixated on Rookwood, though he, for the moment, was more concerned as to the condition of the young blonde witch lying utterly motionless on the ground.

She did not appear to be breathing that he could see. Remus hurriedly closed off the gap of space in between himself and the young blonde woman, kneeling into a crouch at her side and quickly feeling her arms and wrists, checking for a pulse.

He froze and allowed his wolfish hearing to take over. There it was.

_Faint_. Extremely faint, but still beating… The young woman, whoever she was, looked like a corpse, if not for the slow rising and falling of her shoulders, the one thing that Remus sought to examine to ensure her safety.

His teeth clenched and his jaw twitched in ire as he gave the young witch a quick-once over, the ugly blotches of purple on her pallid skin cascading like cold water to Lupin's boiling point, his inherited temper courtesy of his father.

He exhaled a slightly shaking sigh of relief as his wolfish hearing perked up upon hearing the young witch let out a brief inaudible noise as her lips parted, but she did not stir.

Lupin, who had been about to turn his head back upright to check on Ollie and Rookwood, froze as the scent of pinewood reached his flaring, agitated nostrils and his eyes widened.

It was thanks in part to his condition how he came about having a strong sense of smell, and this woman, he could tell by her scent, and when he gingerly pulled down the neckline of her black lace dress to check the witch for injuries, and he bore witness to the grotesque scars that littered his own face, that she was like _him_.

This young woman, this poor creature, was a _werewolf_.

Remus felt his eyes dilate even in the dark, though before he could set aside this revelation and continue examining the young witch for further signs of injury, a startled cry of pain caused his head to whiplash sharply up.

His partner's face was twisted and contorted into a grimace as he stalked towards Rookwood, firing hex after hex at the man, his darkening blue eyes narrowed in pure rage, his mouth rigid and pursed into a thin line as Ollie Brennan summoned most of his strength to cast nonverbal spells.

Rookwood deflected most, though the last spell ricocheted and backfired, hitting him square in the chest, sending him reeling to the ground.

His pale face was unmoved, gaunt, and immobile. Ollie knelt and seized fistfuls of Rookwood's dark robes and dragged him out of the middle of the street and back towards the streetlamp, where he proceeded to shove him against the pole and leaned in, so the tip of his nose was almost touching Rookwood's, his face merely inches away from his.

"No, please, I—I didn't hurt her, Brennan!" Remus heard Rookwood attempt to placate the son of one of his colleagues.

Lupin noticed the Death Eater shirk away to avoid looking Brennan in the eyes, particularly at the permanent burn mark underneath the dark-haired man's right eye that twisted and marred the scarred flesh.

Yet another thing Brennan owed his father for. An Incendio Charm used as punishment when he was just a boy.

Ollie's face, Lupin noticed, struggled with showing one of his father's friends compassion. He looked on the guilty and Remus could only imagine what flitted through Ollie's mind.

He was probably imagining himself killing this man, and Lupin's suspicions were confirmed the moment Ollie spoke.

"You will _not_ touch that woman again, Rookwood!" Ollie barked in a rough, hoarse sounding voice. "How _dare_ you? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't _kill_ you here where you stand, you accursed wretch," he whisper hissed, lowering his hand and winding it around the column of the man's throat and squeezing. _Hard_.

Lupin stared, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. He had known Brennan always possessed a temper, yes, but to see him like this was new. Very, _very_ new, and Lupin did not know what to do.

" _Ollie_ ," Remus spoke up in a low, warning voice, hoping he could reach Dora's best friend before the man did something foolish that he knew he would regret. " _Don't_."

Though whether or not Ollie heard Remus's words, remained to be seen. Lupin fell silent and strained to hear what was being said, as Ollie thrust his face in close to Rookwood's and was speaking to the Death Eater in low tones.

"Give me one _good_ reason why I _shouldn't_ kill you," Ollie growled in a hoarse voice, and as if to emphasize his point, wound his hand even tighter around the man's beefy neck.

The Death Eater made an odd little strangled noise at the back of his throat, that sounded to Lupin's mind like a cross between a snort of laughter and noise of utter revulsion.

"You have _none_ of your father's spirit, kid. Y—you can't _kill_ me," Rookwood taunted in between gasping coughs as his face began to lose what little color was left and turned blue.

" _Try me_ ," Lupin heard Ollie snarl in a low, deep voice.

And at his partner's words, Lupin felt himself cower, though he made no move to rise from his crouched position, hesitant to leave the blonde's side in case her condition worsened. His soul felt for Ollie.

Ollie did not know of the devastation that crashed Lupin's core and turned his heart in his chest to mere ashes. To hold your wand in your hand and act out in anger, enough to end another wizard or witch's life.

To hear their screams and have it be trapped and replayed like one of Celestina Warbeck's songs on repeat.

To look into the other person's eyes, a look that could still speak of forgiveness despite your wand pointed at their throat.

Oh, but Merlin, Tonks's best friend was young enough still, almost thirty, and innocent enough to not know what that was like.

How, if Remus allowed Ollie to go through with this, it would wreck the younger man's psyche and send his mind insane.

Lupin heard nothing but a horrible, fatigued ringing in his eardrums, and in his head, he swore he heard a strange dissonance, a tolling of death bells at Ollie's hand.

Lupin began to shiver, his chest tightening, constricting while his breathing trembled. Horror was the only emotion left in Remus Lupin's eyes, all the while as he watched as Dora's best friend raised his wand in slow motion.

He remembered when he and Sirius had almost killed Peter, and very likely would have that night in the Shrieking Shack had Harry not stopped them, Merlin bless that boy.

" **STOP**!" Lupin roared the command at the top of his lungs, his voice sounding weak and hoarse from exhaustion, but he didn't care.

Ollie's wand remained pointed at Rookwood's chest, though he froze, faltering in his decision as he made a noise of disbelief and turned to the spot where Lupin remained in a kneeling position beside the young witch at the edge of the sidewalk.

Ollie Brennan's pale features immediately hardened, and Remus could see the revolt that screamed in the man's pores, but Lupin didn't care about that right now.

He could not let Tonks's best friend do this to himself.

" _Lupin_!" bellowed Ollie in protest, staring incredulously in disbelief at his partner. "Are you even _listening_ to yourself? We have to put an end to this right _now_ while we have the _chance_! He helped _attack_ Frank and Alice Longbottom, and this woman tonight as well! How _long_ before he does it again?!"

Lupin hardened his own tone in response to the younger man's clipped aggression.

"I _know_ what I said, Mr. Brennan. Let the man go." Lupin's teeth chattered and gnashed tight.

He could practically feel the thrum of his heartbeat in his throat, electric tingling spams pulsing through his fingertips.

"Let him _go_ , Ollie," Lupin repeated, not bothering to tamper down the note of desperation that seeped its way to the surface of his now-slightly shaking voice as he cast a wary glance down at the unconscious witch.

Still no movement.

"Show him what it _means_ to be _merciful_. I know what you must be thinking, Ollie, I do. Believe me, I _know_ what I'm doing, Mr. Brennan. Severus Snape is proof that a Death Eater can change, Ollie. I think Rookwood can change, Ollie. Rookwood deserves to have that same chance. By showing him that our side of this war can show compassion and mercy, then maybe Rookwood can learn as well to show some of his own. Severus learned to change, in time. And now he's an invaluable asset to the Order and protects Harry. He's made the Wolfsbane Potion for me countless times when he did not have to. Do not do this, Ollie. I know it seems like justice, but this isn't _right_. If you strike him down now, it only shows that we're no better than Voldemort, Ollie. Let him _go_."

Lupin gave a curt nod to Ollie, who let out another frustrated growl from the back of his throat as he returned his attention to Rookwood, still keeping a firm hand wound tightly around the man's throat, though Remus swore he saw Brennan's grip slacken, ever so slightly. It was good enough.

As Ollie Brennan turned back around to face Rookwood still pinned in the man's ironclad grip against the streetlamp, the Death Eater wished that his comrade's only son would have kept his trance on the pair of werewolves behind Ollie.

Deliberation for him, it would seem, was over. Jack Brennan's son had judged him already, and all it took was Rookwood chancing a glance over at Jameson's unresponsive figure laying in a crumpled heap at the edge of the sidewalk for the man's rage to return, for his blue eyes to show hatred.

But it was _more_ than that. There was a horrible tenseness that Ollie Brennan wasn't even trying to mask, Rookwood saw.

Rookwood tried to break free, but nothing about this made any sense whatsoever. Not his curling fists or the anger that seemed to radiate from the younger man's pallid skin.

"Get out of here, Rookwood," Ollie snarled angrily, threateningly advancing on Rookwood as he relinquished his grip on the fistfuls of the Death Eater's robes and shoved him backward. The younger man's blue eyes burning bright with a smoldering rage were like a knife in Augustus Rookwood's ribs, the sharp point digging even deeper.

There was nothing there but unbridled rage at what Rookwood almost did to her.

The un-moving gaze of Jack Brennan's son was accompanied by deliberate slow breathing, like the young man was fighting back against something dark festering within himself and losing horribly.

" _Leave_ ," Ollie hissed. "If you know what's good for you, you'll _leave_. A word of advice, Rookwood. You _really_ don't want to upset me any further….or I'll carve your eyes from your head the Muggle way," he spat violently.

"Never knew you had a thing for _dogs_ , Brennan," snapped the Death Eater, looking to goad Ollie further into a response.

" _Go_ ," growled Ollie, unfazed by his attempt, raising his wand in a threatening manner towards Rookwood. "Before I change my mind and decide to _kill_ you, after all. Don't ever come near this girl again, do you understand? Next time, not even _Merlin_ will be able to save you from me, you hear me?"

Whatever Rookwood said in response to Ollie's not-so-thinly-veiled threat was lost on Lupin's hearing as the man shot the pair of wizards a truly scathing look, before scrambling to his feet, and Disapparating with a loud _crack_!

Ollie gnashed his teeth together, the edges of his lips curling upward to reveal his gums as he stared at the spot for a few moments after Lord Voldemort's follower Disapparated, as if to ensure the man wouldn't come back to attempt to finish what he had started.

Ollie panted, mulling over the events of what the hell had just happened in his reeling mind. The moment his feet had touched down on the street when he'd Apparated from off of the rooftop, he'd gone in search for the source of the scream, the noise the witch had given off was practically heartbreaking as he had followed it.

All it had taken for his rage to boil over was witnessing Rookwood shove the young woman up against the lamppost hard enough to break a bone in the girl's body for something within him to snap and lunge.

How he had seen nothing but red fill his vision as everything else faded away and he'd allowed his hidden, chained ferocity from years of abuse at his father's hand, so much _rage_ , to overtake him for the first time ever in his life….

Merlin damn Rookwood to the seven hells below if the Death Eater ever dared to show his face around Ollie again.

" _Ollie_!" came Lupin's voice, pleading with him for his attention, causing the younger man to snap out of it and return his mind to the present grim reality of their situation.

Whirling around on the heels of his boots, Ollie froze, his face draining of colors as he took in the horrid sight in front of him.

Lupin had knelt to the ground and was struggling to lift the young blonde woman where she lay on the ground.

Ollie rushed forward as fast as he could, kneeling down next to his partner and assisting Lupin in looking this she-stranger over.

The woman was lying on her back, one arm limply draped over her stomach and the other at her side. Her eyes were closed, her delicately arched brows knitted together with worry. The young witch's mouth, complete with a bleeding cut on her lower lip, was set in a slight pout, and she looked entirely too pale to be considered healthy.

Hesitantly, Ollie gingerly inched forward for a better look at the witch, his lighted wand raised in front of him, thrusting the lit tip of his wand into the young woman's face…and very nearly fumbled his wand and dropped it onto the ground.

Ollie blinked and felt his throat tighten, just as he had been about to open his mouth and speak to Remus.

For this creature which he had just unceremoniously saved from a truly horrible fate at the hands of Augustus Rookwood, an old friend of his father's, was not at all what he had pictured.

This wasn't some poor middle-aged witch with fading hair and a wary expression on her face, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, as Ollie had first assumed the witch to be.

No, she was…she was _gorgeous_.

She was no girl, but… an _angel_.

Even in the dark, Ollie could see this woman, like a shining beacon of light. The white creamy tone of her bone-white skin reminded him strangely enough of whipped milk.

Ollie ceased his breathing.

For a split second, it was as if he had lost everything as the world around him slowed down.

His heart thundered vigorously in his chest as the realization hit the Legilimens that this was the first young woman close to his age other than Tonks that he had been this close to in years.

Ollie couldn't help but wonder if he reached out a hand to touch her, to caress her cheek to see if her skin were as soft as it looked, would he graze only the air.

As if the blonde woman whose life he'd saved was nothing but a ghost.

Ollie furrowed his dark brows in a frown as a pang of worry wormed its way into his stomach as he watched Lupin practically huff in frustration and grunt with the effort to try to get the girl to respond.

Remus lifted his head and shot a pleading look to his partner, a desperate look in his eyes. Lupin glanced down at the young blonde witch as he lifted her form gingerly as best as he could, shooting a silent prayer to Merlin and his mother, Hope, may Merlin bless her soul, that the young witch did not have any broken bones.

They could be mended well enough, but it was the risk of internal injuries, any bleeding, and doing further damage that made Lupin not want to risk it, and the quicker they got the girl the medical attention of a certified and professional Healer, the better.

They would know how better to help than he could.

Both Ollie and Remus froze as the girl mumbled something incoherent in her semi-conscious state, and a couple of times her eyelids fluttered open briefly, allowing for both Lupin and Brennan to get a good look at the witch's eyes.

Blue eyes that, in the right light, almost looked a pale grey color, like Tonks' eyes.

Her eyes were almost translucent, glossy, like the palest blue glass, too soft to be turquoise, too bright to be baby blue.

The girl's blonde hair was cut incredibly short, though Ollie thought it suited the young witch. Brought attention to her other features.

Her hair wasn't that bland color that was just a shade nicer than the white of old age. It was streaked here and there with a few warm reddish hues and butterscotch. It gave the witch, who was already quite naturally pale, some warmth, complementing her pale face rather than making her look washed out.

She was definitely blonde from root to tip, that much Ollie could see for himself.

Remus sighed in frustration as he grunted with the effort to haul the young witch to her feet, and this snapped Ollie out of his mindless staring of the girl, as a light pink blush speckled its way to his cheeks as he quickly realized he had been staring at her for longer than was deemed appropriate.

" _Help_ me with her, Ollie," Remus begged, a slight bark to the older man's normally kind tone, though Ollie knew Lupin's shift in countenance did not come from a place of anger, but of concern for the young witch's physical well-being. "Are you just going to _stand_ there? She—she needs medical attention, and I—I'm not…strong enough yet," Lupin muttered pointedly before looking away in embarrassment, and this revelation only furthered Ollie's crushing feeling of guilt.

Lupin's strength following the full moon a few days after always took several days to recuperate from being sapped, and the fact that this revelation had slipped Ollie's mind did nothing to better his already sour mood _or_ calm the adrenaline that surged in his veins.

If anything, his mood worsened.

Ollie blinked, startled out of his reverie as his thoughts had wandered. He'd been so enraptured by this woman's beauty that he'd completely forgotten she was hurt.

Moving quickly to appear at Lupin's side in order to help the man haul the young blonde to his feet and drape one of her arms around his shoulder, Ollie swallowed nervously and tried to control the violent, uncontrollable shaking of his limbs.

Ollie could not recall the last time he had been in such close contact with another witch before, save for Tonks, and even back in the early days of their friendship, it had never felt quite…like _this_.

Whatever ' _this_ ' feeling happened to be.

Lupin raised his eyebrows in an alarmed manner as he stared at Ollie out of the corner of his eye as he struggled to right his posture and stand upright.

A difficult thing to do considering he was helping Brennan to support the blonde.

"She still has a pulse. She's still alive, Mr. Brennan," Lupin added, noticing the relieved exhale that Ollie let out through his nose as the younger man's shoulders slumped in relief.

"Wh—what do we _do_ with her? Where can we take her? What if she's a…" _A Death Eater_ , is what Ollie _wanted_ to say, though his voice trailed off.

Now, Lupin merely looked thoughtful, and he paused.

"I don't think that to be the case. If she were on Voldemort's side, I don't believe she and Rookwood would have been arguing when we found them, though I could be wrong. But if we take her back to Headquarters, perhaps Albus or Alastor will know what to do. At the very least, we can treat her wounds, find out who she is when she wakes," Lupin murmured after a moment's pause as he looked at the witch.

Ollie gave a curt nod in response to Lupin's statement, glancing sideways and down at the fragile, semi-conscious blonde witch now being fully supported by him and Remus.

He could not help but notice how light the girl was. _She needs feeding up_ , Ollie thought darkly to himself, his hands trembling a little, and he forced them to clench into fists in order to quell it, lest he accidentally lashes out at something.

In this case, it would be the woman, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause the young witch any further harm. Ollie longed to reach up a hand and touch her cheek, to feel the soft smoothness of her skin, to see if it was as truly as soft as it looked, but now was not the time for such behavior.

He gave his head a curt shake to rid his mind of these dark thoughts that threatened to take hold of his mind, thinking that he felt disgusted with himself at even just supporting her weight and being in such close proximity to a creature like this, injured though she was and in dire need of their help.

For he was a broken, battered, abused bastard and a wreck, and this one was so…so… _beautiful_.

He felt like he was ruining the witch's beauty by being allowed to be in such intimate close proximity to a woman whose name he did not even know.

"Hurry," Lupin's voice urged, once again pulling him from his thoughts.

The werewolf's voice was harsh, but not necessarily unkind.

"Alastor and Albus will know what can be done for her. We can treat her wounds, I think, but not here."

Ollie nodded his agreement and spoke up.

"Head back to Headquarters and alert Dumbledore what's going on. Ask Black if she can stay in one of the spare bedrooms for now until we learn more about her. I don't feel right sending her away in her current physical condition with someone like Rookwood after her," Ollie spat, scrunching his nose in disgust. "Let the others know we're coming."

His voice was clipped and hard, but confident.

Lupin nodded, his face quite pale as he did not question the younger man's request and turned on the heel of his shoe and Disapparated with the familiar loud _crack_! that never failed to make Ollie jump, though he was careful not to jostle the young woman in his arms as he gingerly lifted her in his arms, no longer trusting her to be able to walk on her own.

Ollie waited until Lupin's silhouette in the night vanished from the sidewalk, and Ollie turned his attention back to the feminine figure in his arms.

He nearly let out a startled gasp as the witch's eyelids slowly and suddenly fluttered open. They swiveled for a moment in confusion before coming to rest on Ollie's face.

As the young witch stared up at him silently, Ollie inexplicably began to feel something tighten in his chest as a stab of pity and fear tugged at his heartstrings.

Her eyes were even more bewitching up close like this. A beautiful blue-grey flecked with just a slight tinge of green and filled with pain and grief, the likes of which Ollie could not even begin to comprehend.

Moved with pity, Ollie laid a hand on the young woman's shoulder as he shifted her weight in his arms, allowing the woman's head to loll back against the crook of his elbow as he evenly distributed her weight better.

"Hold on," Ollie whispered in the darkness. "It'll be all right."

He could not tell whether or not she understood as her eyelids drifted shut again, but he knew she was a young woman in need of help. And he resolved to do what he could.

_You'll be all right_.

He repeated this thought like a mantra as he closed his eyes and turned on his heel to leave, not even needing to envision Number 12, Grimmauld Place in his mind to know where he wanted to go to get this woman the help she so desperately needed.

Ollie was still saying it to himself when they Apparated on the front stoop of Sirius's parents' home, saying it over and over again, hoping that he himself would eventually come to believe it, and that somehow, some small way, though she remained unconscious, she could hear him.

_You'll be all right…_


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

**SIRUS** did his best to reassure his cousin that everything was all right.

Her cousin was trying to convince Tonks that her best friend and her new partner needed to talk things out amongst themselves.

It was the only way to settle the tension and discord that had been growing between Remus and Ollie these last few weeks as Lupin continued to get closer to Tonks, now that they had been steadily dating for almost a year.

Tonks stood nervously on the front stoop of the Order's Headquarters. It was raining perhaps a little heavier than usual.

She was partially protected from the thunderous rain by the slightly leaky roof of the townhouse's complex above her head. Squinting, she looked through the rain and down the bustling street of downtown London, desperately listening, straining her ears for the familiar _cracking_! sound of Ollie and Remus Apparating back here to Headquarters.

_To me_ , she thought despairingly, nervously wringing her hands together.

The sky was becoming darker by the minute, which only added to the young Metamorphmagus's anxiety since it meant that it would be nearly impossible to make out Ollie and Remus's figures in the encroaching dark of the storm like this.

As always, Tonks knew that, in another fifteen minutes or so, even with the aid of the lighted street lamps placed strategically alongside the sidewalk, the street would eventually become pitch black and she would have to give up and go inside and rejoin Sirius and the others.

Molly was making meatballs for dinner following the conclusion of tonight's Order meeting, though not even the good smells of the meat and marinara sauce wafting through the hallway and out into the open doorway and into Tonks's flaring nostrils could entice the young witch to come inside.

Not until she knew they were _safe_.

Tonks shivered, clutching at her middle as she attempted to shrink into her red cashmere sweater dress as much as she could for warmth.

"Where _are_ you, Remus? _Ollie_ ," she muttered to herself, squeezing her eyes shut and sending a silent prayer to Merlin or whoever was watching out for them, that they would return.

_Ollie_? She questioned hopefully into the darkness. Tonks knew bloody full well her best mate, a natural-born Legilimens who struggled to reign in control of his gift at reading peoples' minds, could hear her thoughts, no matter the distance, but the fact he had not answered her meant that something was wrong, she was sure of it, judging by the way that her skin crawled and the hairs on the back of her neck stood.

"Ollie _always_ answers me, Sirius, something just _has_ to be wrong with them, I _feel_ it." Tonks moaned in a despairing voice as she heard the footfalls of the man's boots coming from directly behind her, and she felt her cousin's figure nudge beside her as Sirius moved to stand next to Tonks.

A gust of wind wafted its way through the air, tousling Tonks's short, chin-length, thick wavy dark pink hair off her face and into buoyant curls, causing her to shiver slightly.

She was really starting to get worried, and she didn't even care if Sirius saw her as she turned towards her cousin for solace.

"I—I can't just stand here _waiting_ and not _knowing_!" she exclaimed, not wanting to look into the man's pale gray eyes that were so much like her own, perhaps the one physical trait the two of them shared that indicated to the rest of the wizarding world that they were cousin's. "I should go look for them, Sirius, are you _coming_?" she asked and started to turn on her heels to head back inside Sirius' parents' house when she felt Black's strong-arm shoot out and grip her forearm.

Confused, Tonks slowly lifted her gaze and met Sirius's solemn gray eyes with her own and was surprised to see the handsome former prisoner of Azkaban give his head a shake.

"We should stay put," he answered by way of response, ignoring Tonks's growing look of shock and outrage as her already pale face drained of colors. "Dumbledore's orders, cousin, like it or not. You _heard_ the man. Moony _knows_ what he's doing. So does Ollie. He's your best mate, isn't he? How many times has he managed to get himself out of a spot of trouble _without_ your help? The same goes for Moony. This is the world that we live in. We have to get used to this. Let it go…"

"But I…" Tonks's voice trailed off as she felt her shoulders slump forward in disappointment, knowing that Sirius was right, as always.

This was Ollie and Remus's issue to resolve. She fell silent and offered a mute nod of acknowledgment before turning back around to keep an eye on the streets of London, feeling her nails dig into the skin of her palms hard enough to pierce the skin, and not even the gentle touch of Sirius's hand on her shoulder was enough to calm her down.

_This is the world we live in_.

Sirius's words sent a chill down her spine. Tonks would never openly admit it, but Remus's best friend had a point.

Tonks let out a tired sigh. She had been about to turn on her heel the moment she felt Sirius's hand give a light, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, with the intent to steer her back inside to the relative warmth of his parents' home when the familiar _crack_! of a wizard or witch Apparating rent the otherwise silent air.

A hopeful smile tugging at the corners of her lips, Tonks whirled around on her heel, only to feel the smile almost instantly dissipate off her face like Stinksap at the strange and unusual sight before her.

Ollie and Remus were back, thank Merlin, though they were not alone.

A young witch, a blonde woman, shorter and tinier than she was, was being supported by Ollie, who was carrying the woman's unconscious figure bridal style in his arms, her head lolling back against the crook of his elbow.

Tonks' immediate relief at Remus and Ollie's safe return back to Headquarters dissipated instantly and became replaced with that of alarm as she took in the sight of Ollie and Lupin's pale faces, and then her inquisitive gaze drifted down towards the woman.

A small cut just above her left brow was trickling blood down her cheek, and her right foot was twisted at an odd angle.

Most assuredly broken, or at the very least, sprained.

"Here! Into the house!" Lupin's urgent tones rang in her ears until it was all she could focus on as she bolted down the steps of Grimmauld Place's stoop, Sirius, right on her heels with the intent to help where able.

Remus shot Dora a reassuring smile, though it did not reach his light brown eyes. His face was quite pale, more so than usual, which for her partner, was saying something.

"Don't mind _me_ , T," Ollie growled, shrugging out of Tonks's grasp the moment Tonks put a hand on his shoulder. "We have to take care of this woman. She needs help _now_ …"

"Here, put her down on the divan, we shouldn't move her so much in case there are broken bones!" Sirius barked hoarsely.

His face was drained of colors, and he looked more than a little confused and angry at the turn of events but was not about to let a young witch suffer in pain if he could help it.

Tonks clamped her mouth shut, standing motionless at the bottommost step of the stoop as the commotion caused Professor Dumbledore and Molly to poke their heads out of the left-open door of Headquarters to ascertain the source of the disturbance.

The Hogwarts' Headmaster's expression became grave, and the old warlock did not hesitate to conjure what looked like a comfortable-looking divan to float in midair towards Ollie, who seemed reluctant to relinquish his hold on the young witch.

Tonks froze, feeling rooted to her spot on the sidewalk, unable to approach or help. Part of it was shock at what the hell was happening—what even _was_ happening? But also knowing there was little that she could do to help this woman, that she had better let Professor Dumbledore and Molly, who were better equipped to handle this sort of thing, take care of the young witch, whoever she was.

Tonks didn't nearly look, but in the end, the young Auror refused to turn away, knowing that if she didn't look now, she would never able to find it within herself to forgive herself for being such a coward to not even see the extent of the witch's injuries.

As Ollie gingerly shifted the woman's weight in his arms, careful not to jostle her as he set her down on the floating divan, Tonks felt no gasp of horror escaped her lips, but instead, a blunt coldness wafted its way up and down her spine as her throat hollowed and constricted.

"Oh, _Merlin_ …"

Her heart, which had been busily beating away only moments before as she fretted over the return of Remus and Sirius, felt like it came to a complete standstill as she stared at the young witch's form, her face rapidly paling.

The cut above her brow was bleeding, but it was her hand that concerned Tonks the very most, and as she stole a quick glance at her partner, she could see Remus felt the same, too.

"Good gracious!" she heard Molly Weasley exclaim as the matronly redhead bounded forward, brushing her hands on the skirts of her housedress. "What _happened_ out there, Lupin? Mr. Brennan? She's not—" Molly questioned despairingly, voicing the one question Tonks wanted an answer to the very most as she moved to stand by Remus.

Though Molly was promptly cut off by the sound of Professor Dumbledore clearing his throat, and she fell silent.

Dumbledore swiftly made his way down the steps, having to pick up the hem of his long grey robes in order to avoid tripping over them, though he moved as swiftly and deftly as a young man in his thirties as he hurried to the still-floating divan to appear in his haste at the nameless witch's side.

Once he was clear of the small crowd now gathered around the young woman, Albus gently took hold of one of the witch's shoulders and, with his free hand not clutching onto his wand in a tight vice grip, pressed lightly against her hip.

He rolled her limp form onto her back on the divan's cushions, revealing a deathly pale face, almost bone-white.

"Oh, _Merlin_ …oh, _god_ ," Tonks moaned as she peered over Remus's shoulder, having to crane her neck for a better look at her.

She felt her heart give an odd beat, the warmth of the blood in her veins cooling drastically. From the corner of the young blonde witch's delicate mouth, her bottom lip was swelling from a nasty-looking abrasion, droplets of beaded crimson slowly inching their way across a bone-white cheek.

And then there was the matter of her left hand. Merlin forsake her, the poor girl's _hand_!

The appendage, which Tonks quickly surmised perhaps she'd used it to ward off an attacker the Muggle way, sans wand, was covered in flecks of blood, looking broken, and was going to turn blue with bruises, in time.

_Whoever she is, she must have used her hand to ward off an unwanted attack_ , Tonks thought wildly, nervously.

Tonks snapped her jaw shut with an audible crunching sound, her molars grinding.

She felt Remus stiffen at the noise and immediately shot him an apologetic look in her eyes. He returned the gesture saying Tonks did not need to.

"This young woman is well enough. She is unconscious. Shock, most likely." Professor Dumbledore continued his thorough examination of the young woman and turned towards Ollie, Remus, Sirius, Tonks, and Molly, offering the small group a rather grim expression as his beard twitched.

Dumbledore pursed his lips into a thin line and turned towards Sirius, who immediately stood at attention, alert.

"Mr. Black, if you would be so kind as to gather some warm blankets and light a fire in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs," continued the elder, firm voice in a surprisingly calm manner. "This woman is not going to wake up so nicely after whatever torment she suffered from tonight. She is clearly in need of medical attention and comfort and will more than likely be confused and have questions when she awakens in an unfamiliar environment. Let us try not to give her more of a fright? I am sure she has suffered enough…"

Sirius nodded, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he strode back up the stoop of his home and back into the house to set about his assigned tasks without question, though it became clear to Tonks that he did not necessarily approve of this idea.

She heard a sharp intake of breath that was not her own, and Tonks curiously swiveled her gaze to look towards Ollie.

Tonks could see the worry and fear on the dark-haired man's face and in his glistening cobalt pale blue orbs. Whatever had happened to Remus and Ollie tonight on night watch had definitely been eventful, that much she could tell.

" _Albus_ ," barked a gruff, coarse voice from the stoop. Tonks did not even have to look up to know it was Moody.

Mad-Eye Moody stood heavily leaning against his walking stick for support at the top of Grimmauld Place's stoop, his magically swiveling eye swirling in all directions, though the device eventually settled itself and fixated on the young witch.

He made an odd little strangled noise at the mention of the Headmaster's plan thus far and shot Albus a dark glower.

"We know _nothing_ of this witch," he spat, his magical eye remaining surprisingly still as it remained fixed on the girl. "For all we know, this girl's a _spy_ by Voldemort sent to infiltrate the Order and learn our organization's secrets, and you would blindly invite the enemy inside and treat her wounds? I never took you for a _soft_ man, Albus, don't start now. We should wake her up now. Why wait? A little Veritaserum will do the trick quite nicely, I should think, don't you? She'll tell us right and proper what we want to know," Alastor growled in a tone bordering on incredulity.

"That doesn't _help_ , Alastor," Albus snapped in a clipped and hardened tone as the tension between the two wizards filled the air as Dumbledore lifted his gaze to regard the grizzled old Auror through the rims of his silver half-moon spectacles. "There are other ways to determine the allegiances of this young witch that don't involve putting her in a position of discomfort, more so than she already is. If we were to wake her now, not only would she be in considerable pain considering the extent of her injuries," Here, Dumbledore gestured to her injured and bleeding hand and a broken ankle, "but she would be surrounded by people whom she does not know and as a result of this, surely, she would refuse to answer our questions and go into a state of panic. No. I think it best for now if we treat her wounds and allow her to rest. I shall speak to her when she wakes."

Moody made a noncommittal grunting noise at the back of his throat that suggested to Tonks that her mentor and something like a father figure to her was not particularly pleased with this development, but he'd let Albus's decision go for now and did not bother to question his idea further.

Dumbledore sent Moody, who appeared to be not in the least bit sorry for verbally voicing his opinions of this new stranger that the Order had now been saddled with, an admonishing expression.

Alastor's gaze remained impassive under the Headmaster's steely gaze, though Tonks couldn't be sure, she swore she saw the Auror's face pale a shade.

"I suggest," Dumbledore continued in a slightly raised voice as he turned to address the rest of the group gathered around the divan, "that we ensure she is not permitted to leave Headquarters until we can ascertain just who she is and what her purpose is here. First things _first_ , however, she needs the medical attention of a Healer."

The older wizard paused to wave his wand and conjure his corporeal Patrons, a majestic Phoenix, where it gave a resounding screech before soaring into flight and disappearing into the night sky above them.

Tonks swallowed down hard as she focused her attention on the unconscious young witch resting unresponsively on the divan, her gaze drawn towards her injured, bleeding hand.

"The blood, there's so much _blood_ ," whispered Tonks hoarsely, shaking her head before turning to look at Lupin. "What _happened_ tonight, you two? Remus? Ollie?" she asked.

Remus parted his lips open slightly to speak, though before the man could so much as getting a word in edgewise, Professor Dumbledore interjected, preventing Lupin from saying whatever Lupin had been about to say next to Tonks.

"Yes, indeed," he added somberly, his glistening blue eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion as his sharp, piercing gaze flitted from Remus to Ollie. "Therein lies a tale that I think we would _all_ like to hear how this young woman came to come back with the two of you, however, I think it best that we take the young woman inside and wait for the St. Mungo's Healer to arrive, and continue this conversation in the parlor?"

The others quickly nodded their agreement, and Tonks was given virtually no chance to speak as she noticed her best friend stiffen beside her as Dumbledore gave a sharp rap of his wand and the divan supporting the young blonde witch floated out of the street and up the front steps of Headquarters, with Mrs. Weasley trailing close behind the divan.

"Miss Tonks, if you are willing and able, I will need your help," Molly spoke up sharply, following behind the magically floating divan as the ginger-haired witch moved to climb the stairs to take the poor girl to one of Sirius's spare bedrooms. "We must do what we can to prepare for the Healer's arrival. If you would be a dear and go to the kitchen and boil some oak leaves with red wine, I think we can stave off the worst of her hand's bleeding and prevent infection for the time being."

"O—of course," Tonks stammered in resignation, before quickly following behind Molly, though she halted in her movements when she noticed her best friend start to follow.

She turned, a defeated expression on her face. Tonks didn't know _what_ the bloody hell had happened to Ollie and Remus while the two men had been on night watch tonight, but whatever had transpired, it had shaken Ollie to his core.

A quick glance towards Remus was more than enough. The man was shaken, rattled, yes, though nowhere nearly as bad as her poor best mate was. His face was pale and taut, as a vein in his brow twitched, Ollie's lips pursed into a rigid line.

Tonks's heartstrings tugged with pity.

"Ollie, I—I don't know _what_ happened out there tonight," she began hesitantly, glancing over her shoulder, torn between her desires of wanting to help Mrs. Weasley do what she could to prepare for the Healer's arrival, and wanting to offer her best friend whatever little comfort she had within herself to give, "but whatever it was, it _wasn't_ your fault, Ollie. I don't think that woman blames you for what happened, and _I_ don't, either."

Ollie blinked owlishly and turned in surprise, staring at Tonks as though he was just now taking note of her presence by his side, a stunned, shellshocked expression on his face.

"I think…" Tonks hesitated, biting her bottom lip. She did not want to give the man false hope, and yet, she could not recall ever since a time when her best friend had looked so pale and vulnerable. Still, she had to try to reach him. Tonks blew out a breath and continued. "I think she'll be just _fine_."

She knew the minute the words left her lips that they had hit their mark, as almost with painstaking slowness, Ollie lifted his head and narrowed his gaze, his pale blue orbs darkening in color, almost to a cerulean hue, as he glowered.

"H—how is that going to be _fine_ , Tonks?" he bellowed, his voice rising in anger, a direct causation of the stress her friend was under, and he gestured wildly towards the open door as the pair of friends, followed closely behind by Molly, Remus, and Dumbledore, quickly filed inside, wanting to continue this conversation in private behind their closed doors. "Rookwood _attacked_ her, a—and I just…let him _go_! I could have stopped it, but _you_ —" Here, Ollie turned the worst of his wrath on Remus, which surprised Tonks, though she was relieved to see Lupin's face quickly turn impassive and professionally neutral, "wouldn't let me take _care_ of it, Lupin! That woman upstairs could _die_ if her wounds aren't treated!"

He was panting heavily now, his face flushed high with color as his temper, inherited from his father, Death Eater Jack Brennan over the years, threatened to consume him.

Tonks swallowed down hard past the growing lump in her throat, nervously flitting her gaze from Lupin to Brennan.

"Th—what happened was _nobody's_ fault, Ollie. Remus, I—I'd like to hear more of what happened. Fill me in later once the Healer leaves?" she pleaded, biting her bottom lip, and heading towards the stairwell the moment she heard Molly's shrill voice calling for Tonks, requesting her help.

Lupin inclined his head, a solemn expression on his pale, lined features. "Of course, Dora. I'll bring you a plate of food."

Tonks nodded silently in thanks and did not bother to look back behind her for a second time as she followed the sound of Molly Weasley's pleading voice, taking the stairs two at a time, hoping she wasn't too late to help the young witch.

She did not look behind her as Dumbledore quietly ushered Remus and Ollie into Sirius's parents' living room parlor to discuss the events of the men's eventful watch.

Though before Tonks could step off the top step of the stairwell and head towards her left, where Molly's voice was clearer, resolute, as the matronly witch stood waiting for her in the doorway, she heard Ollie's voice coming from behind.

" _Please_ , Ollie," Tonks pleaded, a desperate note to her voice as she promptly planted her feet firmly in the open doorway, noticing how her best friend practically craned his neck to peer into the bedroom to try to catch a glimpse of the unconscious young blonde that lay almost lifeless on the bed.

"Will she live?" Ollie demanded in a rough, coarse, grating voice that did not sound like her best mate at all, and the change in the man's tone send a shiver down Tonks's spine.

Tonks hesitated, running her tongue along the top wall of her cheek and then her tongue as she struggled to formulate an apt response in her mind.

She did not want to give Ollie false hope, but nor could she lie to the man about her condition. It was obvious, this much she could see, that Ollie had saved the young woman's life, and Tonks said as much.

"I don't _know_ , Ollie, and we won't know for sure until the Healer arrives," she muttered. "But the best thing you can do right now for Mrs. Weasley and I is to rejoin the others and go back downstairs. Talk to Dumbledore about what happened, get something to eat, and try to get some rest. Don't worry about catching me up to speed, Remus will fill me in. You look _terrible_ ," Tonks added, her lame, weak attempt at a joke falling flat as the Auror took notice of the dark purple bags clinging to the skin underneath the handsome chap's eyes.

Ollie nodded, a muscle in his jaw tightening as a vein above his brow twitched. " _Fine_ ," he snapped in a cold voice.

Tonks couldn't be sure of this, though she swore as the tall former Slytherin craned his neck and peered over Tonks's shoulder to look into the room once more at the unconscious figure of the young blonde witch lying motionless on the bed's hard mattress while Mrs. Weasley fussed over her, she swore she saw a faint flicker of revolt dart through his eyes.

Whether or not this foreign emotion was due to Tonks's perceived perceptions of Ollie believing himself to be a failure for not having been able to do more to protect the young woman, or if there was something about the witch that genuinely was bothering her friend, Tonks couldn't say at all.

It disturbed her, though Tonks had no time to ponder it as the sound of footsteps ascending the stairwell pulled her from her thoughts, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the St. Mungo's Healer, a man in his mid-forties, clad in an almost blinding set of brilliant lime green robes, carrying a briefcase, came tottering up the stairs, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of a nose that looked like it had been broken a time or two in times past.

Tonks shot the new arrival a grateful smile as she stepped aside to allow the man entry into the room.

Tonks shot Ollie an apologetic smile, trying to apologize to her best friend with her eyes that she was sorry this was the way things had to be for now, but it was for the best, as she gingerly closed the door to the spare bedroom behind her, leaving poor Ollie alone in the doorway to ponder over the strange and bizarre turn of events that had managed to occur in the span of less than an hour, before he ground his teeth together in anger, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, and stalking his way back downstairs to join the others.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

**OLLIE** sat by the windowsill, struggling to collect his thoughts, running his hand over his drawn, worried face.

The group sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, while the world carried on around them upstairs, though as Ollie rested his back against the peeling wallpaper of the desolate living parlor of the Order's Headquarters, he could not manage to think of anything else other than thoughts of the strange blonde witch currently fighting for her life upstairs.

Ollie allowed a scattered sigh to escape his cracked lips as he ran a hand over his pale, drawn, worried face.

His mouth twisted into a grimace as he thought it was a bloody miracle that Death Eater Augustus Rookwood hadn't killed either one of them, but especially not her upstairs.

She was lucky to be alive.

He was still mulling over this in his mind, running his hand along his growing two-day jaw stubble, thinking he had not shaved in four nights, and he would need to soon when he was pulled from his torpid whirl of thoughts as the sound of the St. Mungo's Healer's footfalls reached Ollie's eardrums.

Ollie perked up at the noise, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Remus did too, and both men straightened their posture as the Healer stood in the doorway, brushing his hands, which had faint traces of red on them, on his set of lime green robes, not minding if the sticky, garish crimson liquid stained them, that he would clean his robes later with magic.

The feminine figures of Tonks and Mrs. Weasley trailed close behind the older man, having done what they could to quell her hand's bleeding, sweat along their browbone, strands of stray hair clinging to their cheekbones as they looked tired.

The Healer made a point of removing his glasses, turning to look towards the group with a scrutinizing, intense gaze.

"Which one of you is responsible for bringing her back?" the Healer demanded in a professional tone devoid of emotion as his gaze swept the room, finally settling on Ollie.

Ollie half-rose from his perch on the windowsill that he had been leaning against and Lupin rose from the chair he had been occupying.

"We did, sir, Lupin and I," Ollie admitted, his face strained with worry. He was stunned when the Healer smiled.

"You both may have just saved her life," he declared, a hint of approval in her voice. Ollie nodded, feeling a wash of cold course over his entire body and he rested his back against the wall for support, slumping against the wall as he slowly slid to the hardwood floor as the strength in his legs quickly left him.

The others in the room let out a collective sigh of relief, or more notably, Lupin and Brennan and Tonks did, and Molly.

But Moody and Sirius remained stoically silent, as did Professor Dumbledore, which Ollie thought odd, considering it had been the Headmaster who had insisted the girl be brought inside to heal, though he had no time to react to the eccentric wizard's behavior as the Healer continued speaking.

"I believe, that the young woman is lucky to be alive. The damage is mostly minimal, which is a good thing. I have managed to stop the bleeding of her hand and have bandaged it to the best of my ability, however, her hand will need tending to, as there is a minor bit of nerve damage to the top of her hand. It will heal, in time, but I caution you to not allow the young witch to use it much. It needs adequate time to heal," the Healer quickly explained.

The St. Mungo's Healer paused as there were collective murmurings among the small group that had gathered in the living parlor of Sirius's home, waiting to speak again until they had all quieted upon being the receiving of a truly withering look for Dumbledore, eager for the Healer to continue his initial examination and results of his inspection.

"I must caution the lot of you, however, that this is still a _very serious_ injury," the Healer continued, choosing to make somber contact with Ollie, narrowing his gaze. "The slightest wrong movement to the witch's hand could cause further extensive damage to her wand hand and result in a permanent injury that would render her hand essentially useless if the girl is not extremely careful with using it. For the time being, I have bandaged it, but I recommend keeping her arm in a sling."

As if to emphasize his point, the Healer gave a curt wave of his wand and conjured a blue sling out of midair and paused, taking a moment to chuck it towards Tonks, who caught it in mid-air.

She looked confused, and as though she had a question she wanted to ask but must have thought better of it, for Tonks pointedly closed her mouth and rested the device in her lap, glancing down at the blue sling with furrowed brows.

"Her hand has been stitched, cleaned, and I have taken care to apply a poultice of sorts if you will, but even so, it is quite likely the young woman will develop a fever as a result of all this. I recommend bed rest for her, at least for a few days. And I _cannot_ stress the importance of enough of ensuring the witch upstairs keeps her hand still as possible."

"Is there really no other way to prevent this? Are you suggesting the young woman's life is still in danger, sir?" Lupin spoke up, breaking the silence for the first time since entering the parlor alongside Sirius and the others, and the man seemed to take comfort when Tonks rested a hand on his shoulder, taking a moment to give her thigh an affectionate pat as she settled down into the loveseat next to Remus, though he did not tear his gaze away from the St. Mungo's Healer.

Ollie detected for the first time this evening, his voice showing the first signs of fragility, most unusual for the older werewolf. But the Healer's voice pulled him from his thoughts of Remus Lupin, and Ollie forced his gaze back towards him.

"Nothing is for certain, I'm afraid, not even when you've been in this line of work for as long as I have," the Healer admitted, his voice showing the first signs of sympathy. "The young woman upstairs will need constant supervision, not just on my part, but from one of you, as well. It will be a trying few days for you, and you must be prepared for the worst."

"Will leeches be needed? What can we do?" Tonks questioned cautiously, casting a nervous glance towards Ollie, whose face remained quite pale and taut, the skin pulled tight, though she swore she saw a flicker of the fear dart through his piercing blue eyes at the mention of the blood-sucking creatures, and she did not even have to dip into the Legilimens' mind to know the man thought of his father. That was always his favorite form of punishment whenever Ollie got out of line.

To Ollie (and everyone else's) relief, the Healer offered a curt shake of his head no.

"Not at the present moment, no. Leeches would not help the witch to heal, as her hand has already lost a considerable amount of blood. Someone attacked her if I had to hazard a guess, judging by her wounds. They do not appear to be self-inflicted," he muttered darkly.

Ollie felt his fists clench and un-clench at his sides as visions of Rookwood's sneering, wretched face filled his mind. His lips curled upwards as his teeth ground together in anger.

If Rookwood ever came near her again, Merlin help the man, _no one_ , not even Remus, would be able to save Father's old friend again from _him_.

"She is a fortunate young woman," the Healer murmured, adjusting his glasses, taking them off for a moment to pinch at the bridge of his nose before slipping them back up onto his face.

He turned toward Albus, whose face remained impassive, though Ollie could sense the briefest flickers of intrigue in the man's glistening blue eyes as the eccentric wizard met Brennan's gaze for a moment before looking towards the Healer.

"I do not advise at this time to allow the young woman to be left alone unsupervised. I suggest appointing a caretaker of sorts, a partner, if you will, to aid in the young witch's recovery while she heals, sir. Now, if you would kindly please excuse me, I can't stay. My duty calls."

With that, the Healer politely excused himself and Sirius rose from his chair to show the man out the door.

The room fell silent and no one spoke again until Sirius had rejoined the group, collapsing into his leather armchair by the fire and heaving an exasperated groan.

"What are we going to do about _her_ , Dumbledore?" Sirius demanded, an obvious edge to his hoarse voice as he gave a jerk of his head, motioning to the upstairs. "What if she's a spy for Voldemort, Albus?!"

Professor Dumbledore, who considered himself a man who most certainly did not like having things demanded of him, merely closed his eyes in exasperation and leaned back against the headrest of his own chair, before opening them again and fixing his sharp eyes on the paranoid man, thinking Sirius was beginning to get just as bad as Alastor with his attitude.

Dumbledore gave Sirius a small scowl of annoyance before swiveling his head to meet Remus and Ollie's gazes, both men stiffened slightly at the intensity of his piercing blue eyes, but neither one averted their gazes.

"I think it best for now," he began, choosing his words slowly and cautiously as Albus lifted his eyes and looked around at everyone in attendance gathered to hear the account of events from Remus and Ollie, "that we do as the Healer suggested and prescribe to the appropriate practices in order to ensure a swift recovery. I do not think the young woman means our organization any harm," he added, fixing Ollie with an eerie stare that made him feel as though he were being X-rayed somehow, as though his gaze bore right through him and could see into his heart and to Brennan's very soul.

"She'll stay _here_?" Sirius demanded, an incredulous look intermingled with that of horror dawning on his handsome features as his mouth dropped open in shock.

Professor Dumbledore's beard twitched without prompting as he leaned forward in his chair slightly, lacing his fingers together and toying with one of the jeweled rings he wore.

"If you are agreeable to this arrangement, Mr. Black, then _yes_. If, as you say, Rookwood attacked the young woman," Albus added in a somber note as he briefly looked towards Remus for confirmation, who quickly nodded, before looking back towards Sirius, "Then the young woman's life is in danger. Though the witch upstairs is not a part of our organization, I would not feel comfortable in sending her out onto the streets to fend for herself while injured. You may find this young witch is not who we think her to be. It is very unwise and unsafe to jump to conclusions based only on fear, as fear makes people do terrible things."

He shot Sirius Black a truly admonishing look.

"Did I _ask_ for your opinion, Dumbledore?" Sirius snapped angrily, not turning at the waist to meet the older wizard's gaze. "The woman upstairs means nothing to me. I would not have a stranger as a guest in my home. This is a matter that concerns only the well-being of _my_ family," Here, his gaze flitted to Lupin and Tonks, "and our friends. It concerns nothing of that—that _girl_! We don't know her, Albus! We don't know her name, much less where she's from, whose side she's on, anything _about_ her!"

Ollie felt his breath catch in his throat at the audacity of Black to speak in what he believed were odious terms of the young woman currently hopefully resting about now.

He raised his red-laced eyeballs from where he had been pensively staring at a piece of fraying wallpaper to look towards Sirius, feeling a surge of anger in his veins.

His fingers curled tightly into fists at his sides. Ollie could almost see the man's neck-snapping in his mind and it felt good. He could feel his fist smashing into Black's nose, splattering red blood on the dirty walls.

Ollie's jaw clenched shut as he fought back the worst of his temper, though before he could even think about opening his mouth to retort, Professor Dumbledore, who had been about to take a sip of tea from a chipped teacup that Molly had brought in for him, sputtered angrily and promptly set the teacup down in its saucer and set it on the side table beside his chair.

The Hogwarts Headmaster rose from his seat, his gray robes billowing behind him in his haste.

The living parlor of Sirius's home instantly darkened as a massive black shadow crept over the walls and consumed it and everyone in the room, snuffing out the lightbulbs in the lit chandelier above their heads and the few lighted candles that were in their prongs on the fireplace mantle.

When Professor Dumbledore spoke, it was with a terrible and harrowing utterance that rolled like thunder.

"You dare to underestimate me, Sirius? If you refuse my counsel when it is willingly given to you, then you will fall into shadow and become as black as your surname. Do not be so quick to dole out judgment and death upon that girl when there is none to be had," he exclaimed in a disappointed voice.

The Hogwarts Headmaster collapsed back into his chair as the blackness began to retreat from the parlor.

Expressions of panic and fear were plastered across every other being present, save for Alastor and Sirius.

Though their war-hardened faces had, at the very least, lost their sense of color. Ollie dared not move a muscle or even breathe, as they all waited for Albus to get himself situated in his chair and waved his wand curtly in an annoyed fashion to light the lamps and candles again, bringing forth light and warmth again.

Life began to seep back into the room devoid of oxygen, as Ollie caught snippets of Lupin and Tonks mumbling about nothing of great particular importance.

The tense atmosphere melted away into almost nothing.

However, a twinge of uneasiness still hung suspended in the air, as though the slightest off-handed remark would set the Headmaster in his agitated state off again.

Something of which Ollie did not want a repeat of. An angry Dumbledore was something none of them particularly enjoyed, for he was easily one of the most powerful wizards in the world, alongside Voldemort.

Sirius, being the one who had been on the receiving end of the older, eccentric wizard's harsh scolding, merely turned his back on the rest of the group, huffing in indignation as he folded his arms across his chest, resuming staring into the crackling fire of the fireplace.

Still, albeit begrudgingly if that, Ollie could see that Black could recognize and understand Dumbledore's words. It was a piece of wisdom the man would do well to remember, even if it were only to keep what had just occurred from happening again.

Ollie could practically see the cogs of the man's mind turning in his head, dipping into his mind, and learning Black would stow the Hogwarts Headmaster's counsel deep into his mind for later usage.

Sirius would heed and listen to Dumbledore's words, but that certainly did not mean that he would have to admit that Black had been wrong.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Ollie asked in a cautious tone that abruptly broke through the tense atmosphere of the parlor, wanting to steer the conversation back towards the original topic at hand.

It took him a moment or two to find his voice again, and when he finally did, even Ollie was surprised to hear it tremble.

"What of the young woman?" He found himself suddenly speechless as visions of the young woman's face flitted through the forefront of his mind.

He swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat and tried again, this time with more success.

"What will happen to her?" Ollie pressed urgently, not bothering to hide the note of desperation that seeped its way unbidden to the surface of his voice.

The greying, aging elder wizard gave out a rather haggard, exasperated-sounding sigh as he lifted his chin to regard Ollie, a quizzical look in his twinkling blue eyes as he studied the younger man in silence for a moment.

"The young witch upstairs will, as I am sure all of you heard, will need constant supervision," Dumbledore began slowly, seeming to address the entire room but choosing to keep his intense gaze fixated solely on Ollie. This unnerved him to no end, but he did not protest.

"Therefore," continued Dumbledore as he sat up straighter in his chair, pausing for a moment to lift his mug of tea to his lips and taking a delicate sip, "I think it wise for the time being to do as the Healer suggested and not allow the young woman to be left unattended for extended periods of time."

Ollie nodded slowly in understanding as his brain cells worked to process all of the information Dumbledore spouted.

Here, his gaze intensified as he fixed Ollie with an icy-blue stare that caused the fine hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

"Mr. Brennan, since you appear to be the sole individual in this room concerned the most about the young woman's well-being and recovery, might I make the suggestion that you will, for the time being, become her new partner?"

Ollie blinked owlishly, feeling quite certain he had misheard.

"S— _sir_? Excuse me?! Wh— _what_?" he stammered hoarsely, feeling the color drain from his face as he quickly averted the older man's gaze and looked toward Lupin for confirmation.

One look at his former partner's face told him that Remus could not help him with this.

"I—I don't…." he stuttered, feeling as though he was making a blind and bloody fool of himself among everyone in the room. Ollie swallowed hard and cringed. "Oh, please, _no_ ," he begged, not sure where this desperation in his tone was coming from.

His eyes went wide as he stared at Dumbledore incredulously, whose blue eyes were twinkling infectiously, and Ollie swore the man smiled a bit.

He was aware of Tonks's questioning gaze practically piercing and burning a hole through the back of his skull hotter than any Dark Mark could brand, though he purposefully ignored meeting his best friend's gaze.

He did not want Dora to see the fear in his eyes. Surely, Professor Dumbledore was not bloody serious.

However, Ollie had known few moments where Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was anything _but_ serious. Days, weeks, months…being paired…with _her_?

Ollie swallowed down as he thought of the strange effect the blonde witch had on him that brief moment not even an hour ago when the nameless girl had opened her eyes and had looked at him with those pleading eyes of hers.

He could not quite explain it, and though he knew the young witch posed no immediate threat to him, it was the manner in which she had managed to un-guard him just with a single look, without having to say a word, that unnerved him and sent a chill of something unidentifiable down his spine. It wasn't revulsion, but nor was it pleasurable.

"Th—the circumstances of this arrangement are questionable, Headmaster," Ollie began wildly, gesticulating with his hands, trying, and feeling like he was failing to sell the argument that he really wanted to make, that he could not afford to be this woman's partner.

The last time he had been alone with a young woman close to his own age had been Tonks.

And at the very least, considering he still struggled to reign in and bury his feelings for the young witch currently seated just across the room from him, he knew without a shadow of doubt in his mind, that he had no interest in going through anything like that again. He did not think that he could take it again.

"My decision to appoint you as her partner displeases you?" Dumbledore questioned, merely raising his greying brows in alarm as he fixed Brennan with a pointed and harsh glower.

"I…" Ollie stammered as he struggled to formulate an apt response in his mind, though the fact of the matter remained, that he had little if any input to give that would make sense.

He downcast his eyes, staring at the dust-coated hardwood floorboards of the parlor beneath his feet, wishing with all his might he possessed enough strong magic within himself to cause a hole in the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

But Merlin's Beard, everything about this situation was so _awkward_!

Ollie thought he had all that he wanted to say planned out in his head, but the minute he felt the burn of Dumbledore's gaze, his tongue immediately felt like heavy clay in his mouth, as though someone had gagged him and rendered him speechless.

He could not be mistaken, he thought, as the dark-haired, blue-eyed former student of Slytherin House turned his gaze towards Lupin, as he met Lupin's look of disappointment.

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Remus piped up, breaking the silence at last and exchanging a knowing look with Tonks, which set Ollie's hackles rising as if the two of them knew something that he didn't. "The young woman will need someone by her side that she can trust. There's no one better."

Lupin's seemingly strong response seemed to startle Brennan even further and Ollie bolted from his spot where he had been leaning against the wall and staggered backward a step or two in a sense of extreme growing discomfort.

Lupin frowned, though he said nothing as he looked towards Tonks. Tonks shot Remus a look that silently conveyed she was just as confused by the man's behavior as Remus was, which was odd, considering she knew the man better than anyone here.

Lupin made a mental note in his mind to ask her later when the two of them were alone. But for now, Ollie needed help.

Upon seeing the startling image settle in his mind of the young man so flustered, Remus Lupin's usually kind and tranquil face went a little bit slack in surprise as he observed the man's nervous behavior that intensified as the seconds passed.

"As I said before, I believe Dumbledore is right. You're the best one suited for the role, Brennan," Lupin began cautiously.

Lupin gave Ollie an apologetic look and waited to see what the younger wizard would say in response to his kind statement.

Slowly, he watched as Ollie's nervousness dissipated inch by inch. He breathed out a haggard breath through his flaring nostrils, which reminded Lupin of an angry bull that saw red.

"I—I will look after her, Dumbledore. You've my _word_ ," he growled in a low, hoarse voice that sounded surprisingly vulnerable and tight, as though Ollie could think of anything else that he would rather be doing, but to be the witch's partner.

"Your word has always been your bond, Mr. Brennan. An admirable trait in one so young, a truly rare quality these days," Professor Dumbledore complimented, nodding his approval.

The aging old wizard winced at the stiffness in his joints as he slowly rose from his chair and fixed Ollie with a sanguine look, motioning for the dark-haired man to follow him with a curt wave of his arm.

"Excellent. I am very glad that you have come to see sense, Brennan. Come, then, now that that's settled, sir."

Ollie blinked, feeling quite flustered and flabbergasted as he felt his legs move with a mind of their own towards the door.

"Wh—where are we going?" he stammered, lowering his head towards the Headmaster in a strange, bowing manner.

Professor Dumbledore let out a dark little chuckle as he slowly turned at the waist to regard the young Legilimens, pausing at the foot of the stairs as Lupin moved to join him.

"To check on the young woman's condition, of course," he answered, sounding surprised at the thought that the very idea of doing such a thing had not crossed Ollie Brennan's mind. "No doubt the poor dear will be quite confused, not to mention perhaps a bit frightened when she wakes from the traumatizing ordeals that she has unfortunately suffered through tonight, and there are questions surrounding her injuries that I, as I'm sure you do too, as her new partner, seek the answer to, yes, Oliver?"

Professor Dumbledore did not bother to stifle his small, crooked smile that graced his features as his gaze settled upon the truly dumbstruck look of shock on the young man's face.

Albus felt confident that he had done what he could for the young witch.

He had ensured she had received treatment for her injuries and had made sure that, by appointing Mr. Brennan as her new partner, that the young witch would be treated well.

The least he could do was have the best kind of comfort for the young woman before handing her off to Oliver for care.

Albus, as he climbed the stairwell with the intent on seeing if the young witch whom Brennan and Lupin had saved tonight was awake and conscious yet and capable of holding a conversation, paused as he heard Mr. Brennan speak to Lupin.

"She is so _lovely_ , Remus…" came Ollie's voice lowly. Dumbledore immersed himself for a moment in Brennan's words and felt no shame whatsoever by eavesdropping on him.

Again, there was the eerie tinge of melancholia, the same from earlier in the young man's voice.

This was…relatively new.

Very, very new to have seen and heard the boy speak this way. Dumbledore would have almost described Oliver James Brennan as anxious, glum, and dare he even thinks… _sad_.

Oliver broke in a slow exhale as he climbed the stairs to follow in Albus's footsteps, his pale, handsome face an alloy of constraining want and restraint, his eyes drifting up the stairwell and lingering on the closed door of the spare bedroom, behind which, Dumbledore and Ollie knew the young woman rested.

He finished his sentence, lowering his voice so that only Albus could hear him.

"…do I even deserve this woman, sir?"

Albus did not bother to answer the Legilimens in the usual way, not looking back as he strode pointedly up the stairwell.

He paused before giving his wand a light rap, and Ollie flinched as he moved to stand next to Dumbledore upon hearing the locking mechanisms of the door unclick as it swung open with a rather loud creak that surely alerted the woman inside that there was now a presence just outside her door.

Dumbledore stood backward and allowed Ollie to be the first one into the room, patiently waiting for the man to find his inner resolve, and after much hesitation on his part, Ollie reluctantly entered, a sheen of sweat starting to throng on his brow and slide down the front of his protruding temples.

As Dumbledore gently closed the door behind them, one thought flitted through his mind, one that he knew the young Legilimens could hear without even trying to dip into his mind.

_Only time will tell_.


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

**NOW** that the three of them were relatively out of danger, Remus immediately felt his discomfort return. This woman upstairs, the other werewolf, whose name none of them knew, remained a mystery to all of them.

Her true intentions and motivations remained unclear. And even though he knew Mr. Brennan was not the type of young wizard to let a young woman suffer when the blonde had clearly been in dire need of their assistance in dealing with Augustus Rookwood, he could not quite shake the feeling of the overabundance of caution that rattled his frame as he collapsed into a chair in the kitchens, with Tonks at the stove preparing steaming mugs of tea for them both while Lupin got his bearings.

Lupin inwardly sighed and cursed himself for bringing her back here, thinking perhaps it would have been better to escort the young witch to St. Mungo's and allow her to be cared for there. He did not know _what_ had possessed it within himself to allow Ollie to bring her back here, to even suggest such a thing, but the moment he learned the girl was…like _him_ , his heartstrings had practically tugged with pity, and he was not about to leave a fellow lycanthrope to suffer a horrible fate at the hands of Augustus Rookwood tonight.

"Remus?" Dora's cautious tone abruptly broke through Lupin's swirl of darkening thoughts, startling the man out of his unhelpful musings of the young blonde witch upstairs. His head came up so fast that the left side of his neck gave a small spasm and a bolt of lightning shot upwards at the movement.

Lupin gritted his teeth to stifle his gasp of pain and clutched at the hand to the muscle just underneath his ear as if the action would bring some small form of comfort.

After a moment or two, the pain passed and Lupin rolled his neck to crack it, to ensure it was not seriously hurt and he hadn't pulled a muscle. James always used to get on his case mercilessly about this, as they all hated it whenever he did this knee-jerk reaction.

One would think Remus would have learned by now that jerking his neck like this whenever he was startled was quite painful, but he always seemed to forget about it, and he would probably be reminded of several other things before the long night came to an end.

"Yes?" Remus tiredly responded, rubbing away the last of his soreness just under the contour of his ear. He was just a bit perturbed at the moment and did not feel like addressing Dora's concerns until his muscles returned to normal. Lupin let out a tired sigh as Tonks wordlessly set a steaming mug of tea in front of him and took the seat opposite him from across the table.

He'd have preferred if his partner would have chosen the seat next to him, but he did not protest, knowing she wanted to look him in the eye while talking to him. Tonks shot him a pained, apologetic look as she settled into her seat and wrapped both hands around her steaming mug of tea.

"Are you all right, Remus? I—I didn't mean to startle you, sweetheart," she asked apprehensively, clearly looking apologetic for startling him and causing him pain. "How's your neck, love?"

"Yes, I—I'm fine, it's fine," he admitted after a moment, glancing down into his mug of tea as he struggled to form his words. "But…I am not sure if I made the right decision in bringing the girl back with us. Sirius is _right_ , Dora. What if it turns out she can't be trusted? And…she's…like _me_ , she—she's a werewolf, too," he muttered in a low voice, lowering his voice an octave, noticing Dora's look of utterly startled surprise.

Lupin felt Tonks stun at the revelation the young blonde witch was a werewolf, though she quickly molded her features into a smile, though it was strained and did not reach her eyes. Tonks lifted her gaze to meet Lupin's, who had a genuinely concerned expression on his face for the well-being of that girl.

She did not believe her partner had it within himself to turn away anyone, no matter their allegiances, or what they were or weren't, in need of help, though where this sudden feeling of doubt was stemming from, she didn't know, nor did she particularly know what to say to put him at ease.

Tonks blew out a slow, cautious breath, trying to find her words.

"Has she spoken any at all tonight to either you or Ollie after you saved her life? This woman upstairs, has she told you her name? Anything identifiable about her at all?" she asked, lifting her mug of tea to her lips, and studying Remus over the rim of her cup while she drank, never once averting her questioning gaze. When he shook his head no, she sighed. Tonks set down her mug of tea and set it aside and folded her hands together, resting her arms on the table, waiting patiently for Remus to speak.

"No," Remus admitted, not sure where Dora was going with this. "She—she lost consciousness when Ollie and I arrived on scene to help. No one has spoken to her. We don't even know her name," Lupin admitted, his tone pained.

"Then we _ask_ her, it is as simple as that, Remus," Tonks chirped in a bright voice, shooting Lupin a kind smile that immediately felt like it lifted the weighted burden resting on his shoulders. "I don't think she's a Death Eater, Remus. There are ways we can check. Just ask her to roll up her sleeve. If she doesn't have the Dark Mark, then I don't think we have anything to worry about. She was arguing with Rookwood, as you said, but until we know for sure who she is and what kind of a personality she has, it isn't right of us to make a judgment against the girl's personality when we don't know the first thing about her."

Remus nodded slowly, though his brows furrowed in contemplative thought as he pondered over the new arrival.

"There is always a cause for concern that even if she _isn't_ a Death Eater, she could still be sympathetic support to Lord Voldemort's cause. We will have to be careful around her going forward as she heals, and I'm inclined to believe her transition as a new Order member if Dumbledore allows it, from…whatever she was before Mr. Brennan and I found her, will be a difficult transition," Lupin cautioned, wanting Tonks to consider all angles of this scenario as it pertained to the witch upstairs. "You're right, as always, but…that's not where my concerns lie for the moment, Dora," he began, having sensed that Tonks would misunderstand his intentions and it was clear by the look on her face, she had. "It's Ollie. This new partnership of theirs, I don't know what Dumbledore's motives are for this, but I've long since learned to give up attempting to understand how that man's mind works, much less discern his reasonings for this," Remus began, twiddling his thumbs in an uncertain manner as he shoved aside his half-consumed mug of tea, suddenly not thirsty, "It's not a _problem_ exactly, but…more of a complication…"

Dora startled and blinked owlishly at her partner, as Remus lifted his chin to better meet Dora's questioning gaze, looking up at the clear-minded witch seated across from him, looking like she was at a loss for words, before speaking once more.

Tonks frowned. "What do you mean?"

Lupin paused to draw in a breath before continuing to speak.

"It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment, Dora. Dumbledore seems to trust this young woman enough to remain here amongst the Order in Sirius's house, and that alone is good enough for me," he added, glancing around the desolate kitchen before returning his gaze back to Tonks. "But I fear that it will not be enough for her. _Or_ for him, and the fact that she is…like me…is, ah, well…a complication, I believe, for Mr. Brennan, Tonks. I'm not sure we made the right call."

"Is this about Ollie? About… _this_ …?" she muttered darkly under her breath, waving her wand, and procuring an envelope, the wax seal unbroken. The owl had come for Ollie three hours or so, announcing the grim news of his father's passing. She was more observant than most, and Tonks had accepted the letter on behalf of her best friend while Ollie and Remus were on night watch.

Tonks knew the man wouldn't take his father's death well, despite the fact that Jack Brennan never treated Ollie with any sort of paternal affection, and when he did, growing up, it had always come at a price. Tonks let out a shudder as she waved her wand and the letter vanished, swallowing nervously down past the lump in her throat.

"H—his father's funeral is in a few days, Remus. In Paris, of all places. I—we have to tell him _tonight_ , and I don't think it should wait much longer."

"Would you like me to do it with you? We can tell him together, this isn't something you should have to do alone, sweetheart. I won't let Ollie hurt you," Remus offered kindly, furrowing his brows into a frown as he took notice of how the young witch's face that he loved rapidly paled, devoid of color.

"I—I don't want to tell him at _all_ , I've _seen_ his temper," Tonks admitted begrudgingly, reaching up a stray hand to tuck back a wisp of her short, thick, wavy dark pink hair that fell to her chin back behind her ear where it rightfully belonged. "There's no telling how Ollie is going to react to this news. But…the man _was_ his father, like it or not. Ollie surely _loved_ his father, despite their… strained relationship, and he deserves to know the truth and be given the opportunity to attend the wake if that's what he wants," she muttered darkly under her breath, a fiery heat speckling along her cheeks, turning them pink.

"He _has_ been rather unstable lately. I'm worried about him, Dora," Remus muttered, thinking of not even two hours ago on the rooftop outside of Rookwood's home, how there had been a darkening look of jealousy and smoldering rage in the man's burning bright blue eyes when Remus had asked him if Tonks's best friend would hate him for marrying her.

Tonks's frown deepened. This was news to her, but then again, Lupin was more observant than her when it came to peoples' emotions, and especially during his monthly cycles. Remus's heightened senses would go on alert, and he had no difficulties whatsoever in reading peoples' expressions, ascertaining what someone might be thinking or feeling.

"I always thought your friend didn't care for his father, the way Mr. Brennan talks about him from time to time," Lupin spoke up, his eyebrows raised, his tone thoughtful.

Tonks let out a tired sigh, resting her chin in her hands as she regarded her partner from across the kitchen table, lost in thought for a moment as she struggled to find the right words.

"Ollie and his father hardly spoke after he graduated Hogwarts. He was a few years ahead of me in school, left before I did," Tonks quickly explained, seeing the furrowed look of confusion on Remus's face. "As far as I can tell, they hated each other, but no matter how much of a cold and cruel man that Jack Brennan was, he was still Ollie's father, like it or not, Remus. Now, he has nobody else, save for you and me, and the way he was brought up so…sheltered and isolated, unable to form any real connections with people, it will only send his mind insane!" Tonks cried.

"You'd better not say that in front of him, Dora," Remus added in a dark, somber tone laced and fraught with worry.

"I know," Tonks sighed, taking a moment to bury her face in her hands, letting out an exasperated groan from the back of her throat before blearily lifting her head from her hands and gazing across the table at Remus with a worried look in her grey eyes. "But this still doesn't let me know why you're worried about _her_ , Remus," she protested, jerking her head up towards the ceiling. "What does the girl you two saved have to do with _any_ of this? I—I don't understand!" Tonks cried in frustration.

Tonks had been briefly tempted to sneak up to Fred and George Weasley's room upstairs and see if she could nick a pair of their Extendable Ears from their night table drawer to slide under the door that the young blonde witch currently rested in, to see if she could make out what was being said between herself and Dumbledore and Ollie, but in the end, decided not to.

Every person, despite her insatiable curiosity in wanting to know more about the young woman whose life Remus and Ollie had saved tonight, deserved a right to privacy, and considering the extent of the witch's injuries, Tonks decided to let her be for now, thinking she would check on her tomorrow morning first thing.

The last thing the young witch needed after enduring such a miserable night alone, was to wake up in a strange house all alone with no one that the witch could call a friendly face to her.

"From what you've told me, Ollie's never really had…ah, many experiences with women before, Tonks, am I right?" Lupin asked, suddenly looking increasingly uncomfortable at the turn their conversation was taking, starting to squirm in his chair.

A light pink blush spread along his cheeks, and the man looked as though he wished as though a hole in the floor beneath their feet would open him up and swallow him whole.

Tonks offered Lupin a surprisingly disgruntled noise and irritably waved her hand before asking Remus to get to the heart of the matter surrounding her best friend that bothered him so.

Lupin nodded and exhaled a tense, somewhat shaking breath as he carded his fingers through his hair in a nervous way.

"Right now, however, given I think we both know Mr. Brennan isn't going to react so kindly to news of his father's passing," Remus continued, choosing his words carefully and speaking slowly, not wanting to offend the woman he loved, considering the sensitive nature of the topic they were discussing, and more to the point besides, whom they were talking about. "I know that he's one of your closest friends, Dora, but I'm afraid he's in a rather dangerous state of mind right now where Brennan might take advantage of those around him. He became almost increasingly volatile earlier tonight when I…addressed some of my concerns about our relationship with him," Lupin hesitated, not wanting to spoil the surprise for her. Sensing Tonks's growing discomfort, having spotted the look of shock and outrage on his partner's pale features, Lupin stammered and quickly began trying to correct himself. "Dora, I—I'm not saying your friend would force himself on the young witch like that, but she _is_ a liability."

"Ollie is _not_ that much of a _monster_ , Remus," replied Tonks curtly, her voice cold and the edges of her tone now hardened as she felt her posture stiffen against her chair. She did not like at all the turn this conversation had taken.

The man upstairs with Dumbledore was her best mate, and Tonks would defend Ollie with her dying breath.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid the two of us are perhaps the only one in the entire Order who holds such an opinion of Ollie, Tonks," muttered Remus contemplatively, smiling sadly at the optimistic young witch who held his heart, though his smile faltered at seeing the look of hurt in her grey eyes.

Tonks stared, hardly daring to believe the words that were coming out of Lupin's mouth, wondering if she had misheard the man. "What would you have us _do_ , Remus? We don't know anything _about_ that girl upstairs, it doesn't make any _sense_ to send her out onto the streets in her current condition! You _heard_ what Dumbledore said about her!" Tonks exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing her arms in frustration, and folding them across her chest. The young witch raised her eyebrows as she noticed Remus from across the table staring at her melancholically.

"I _know_ that," interrupted Lupin in a gruff tone of voice as Tonks continued to glower at him from her chair, not wanting to resort to bickering with his partner over this. "Though I don't know much about her, I'm honestly amazed that the young witch lasted as long as she did against Rookwood. Rookwood is a vile, disgusting brute, known for his love of torturing people," he added, scrunching his nose in disgust as visions of Frank and Alice Longbottom's faces flashed in front of his mind. "The fact that she was still mostly conscious by the time I got to her suggested the witch upstairs put up quite a fight and was not so willing to go with Lord Voldemort's follower quietly," he added, a hint of admiration in his quiet voice. "She appears to have a strong spirit and is intelligent enough to hold her own against the likes of a man like Rookwood. Something our Order could use more of these days if you ask me. But…I _don't_ want to see her get hurt. For now, I think it best if you and I kept an eye on them both."

"I see," Tonks replied slowly as the wheels in her head began to turn. "You want me to befriend this young witch, Remus?"

Lupin nodded, a grim expression on his lined, scarred face. "Yes, though for now, I think it best if we allow her to rest. The poor thing is probably considerably frightened if she's even awake, and Professor Dumbledore wished to speak with her and introduce her to her new partner," he added, unable to keep the note of bitterness seeping its way unbidden to the surface of his voice, though if Tonks noticed it at all, his partner said nothing.

"So…you want me to keep an eye on them both?" Tonks asked when Lupin fell silent as he drained the last of his tea.

"At all times," he muttered darkly under his breath. "As much as we are both able in our spare time when you aren't working and we aren't out on a mission, I don't want to see the young witch get on your friend's bad side, considering his… _moods_."

Remus did not voice this next thought and never would to Dora as they rose from their chairs and headed out of the kitchens to wait in the living room for Ollie to come back downstairs so the pair of them could inform the former Slytherin of his father's death, that he suspected the causation of his volatile mood swings was entirely his fault because Lupin had dared to fall in love with Tonks and was going to marry Dora pretty soon.

Tonks quickly nodded her agreement as she sat down on the loveseat next to Lupin while they waited for Ollie to come back.

She was dreading telling him the news, and it was this thought of not knowing how the man would react to the emotional blow that his father was dead that caused a sheen of sweat to break out along her browbone and caused her next words to tumble out of her lips before she could stop herself.

"I'm sorry, Remus," Tonks apologized in a strained and pained voice. "I understand where you are coming from now, and I have to say, I think I agree with you. I wish things were different and we did not have to do this, but we'll do what we can," she promised, as she instinctively reached for his hand.

Remus responded in kind by giving Tonks's hand a light, reassuring squeeze.

"I know," he muttered darkly in agreement, letting out a tired sigh as he collapsed back against the chair's headrest, allowing Tonks's head to rest at the crook of his shoulder, basking in the young pink-haired witch's warmth. "I swear, as each day passes, Brennan becomes less and less human every day," he growled in a hardened voice. "I only hope that this idea to appoint that woman upstairs as his partner is _worth_ it."


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

**OLLIE** breathed in a shaking breath as he crept towards the bed, where she laid as still and lifeless as the last time that he had gotten a glimpse of her when he had followed Tonks up here. The young man felt himself give a sharp intake of breath.

The young witch was even more breathtakingly beautiful than he remembered her being a few hours ago.

The Legilimens stiffened and tensed his posture the moment he saw the blonde woman's brow crinkle a bit, but other than that, she made no movement and didn't wake, for which he was glad.

He did not want her to see him like this.

Brennan admittedly wasn't sure if he should be concerned or relieved that she still had not woken up.

She had fallen and hit her head on the sidewalk and had broken her ankle, not to mention her hand was the most grievous out of all of her injuries, as he reflected back on the Healer's words to him.

Had she hit her head harder than he thought? Was there a possibility the young witch had a concussion?

Ollie stood there a fraction of a second longer before moving further into the room and as gingerly as he could so as to not disturb her, stood by her side, though he made no move to sit at the edge of the young woman's mattress, for he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that the moment he sat, the slight jostling movement would wake her, and her seeing her was the last thing he wanted given his current vulnerable state of mind.

Though his fingers gave a spasmodic little twitch, and Ollie felt a sudden urge to touch her.

His mind became stuck on this one thing only, and he could not quite shake the budding sense of annoyance that prickled down his spine and had begun to spiral as a strange warmth in his chest.

He tightened his shaking hands into fists at his side to prevent himself from acting on this sudden inexplicable urge to reach out and sweep the young witch's blonde bangs off of her forehead so he could get a better look at her features, his knuckles practically white-boned and shaking with the effort to restrain himself from acting on the urge to do it.

As Ollie continued to stare at the still form of the sleeping young witch, he allowed himself the fleeting feeling of gratitude that he had arrived in time to save her life, that Rookwood hadn't killed her.

There was a strange pressure in his chest that seeped as warmth into his body as he looked at her. It was admittedly one of the strangest feelings that he had ever encountered, a foreign, almost forgotten feeling that invoked long-forgotten physical urges.

Thoughts he had not had since thinking of Tonks. He was skeptical of it at first, unable to understand of whether or not what he felt in his chest as the warmth surged and spiraled all the way up to his spine and down to the tips of his toes was something that Ollie wanted to feel repetitive.

This was a new desire for him. He wanted to touch this witch to know that she was really real. But Brennan couldn't bring himself to do it though. He did not _know_ this witch, it would be highly inappropriate, considering their status as partners, and they had not met, much less talked.

Just being in close proximity to her like this was enough to make the former Slytherin lose his breath and suddenly feel quite weightless, dizzy.

It seemed as if he forgot the proper way to breathe as his throat suddenly went dry and his palms, still clenched into fists, begun to sweat.

What…what in Merlin's name… _was_ this? What was he _feeling_? Why did this witch who he did not know make him feel this way? What happened?

So many questions and no one to ask them to. He surely couldn't go to Dora and Remus with this.

Swallowing down hard past a lump in his throat, Ollie shook his head to clear his mind and continued to stand at the edge of her bed, staring.

"Professor Dumbledore," he called out in a low, hushed tone that was almost a whisper as Ollie turned his head sanguinely to the left to meet Albus's questioning blue eyes. "What if she's hungry when she wakes up? Could Molly make her a plate?"

Professor Dumbledore's cobalt blue eyes twinkled from behind the lenses of his silver half-moon spectacles, as his beard twitched without prompting and he inclined his head as he nodded.

"I will tell her to prepare something for her. If she's hungry when she wakes, she will eat," he murmured, pursing his lips into a thoughtful line.

Ollie noticed the aging old warlock's almost pensive stare as a vein in the man's brow twitched.

He furrowed his brows in a frown as his gaze flitted from Dumbledore's and to the woman.

" _What_? What _is_ it? What's wrong? Is it her wounds, sir?" he breathed, not bothering to hide the note of panic that seeped its way unbidden to the surface, though he was not sure why this was, really.

"Ah, no, it is not that, Mr. Brennan, not at all," Dumbledore explained after a moment, jumping slightly as the Headmaster was jolted out of his thoughts. "I was merely woolgathering for a moment. Now that I see her up close in better lighting, I recognize this woman. She was a student at Hogwarts around your time, Brennan. She was a Gryffindor if memory serves. Born to Muggle parents that died at quite an early age, and the poor dear is like Mr. Lupin, I am afraid. Thus far, she and Remus are the only two werewolves to have ever attended Hogwarts."

Ollie felt a wash of cold inexplicably waft over his body, rendering himself feeling as though he had been doused in a bucket of ice water. His mind felt like it was reeling.

She was…a _wolf_?! But…she surely didn't look like the werewolves he had met throughout his life, when he'd still lived under Father's roof. There were no scars like Remus's that littered her visage. Her face remained untouched, so _how_ …? Ollie gave his head a shake to clear his mind.

"What's her name?" he breathed in a hoarse, rough voice. "Tell me," Ollie demanded in a low voice that could only be described as a low growl.

Professor Dumbledore merely proceeded to raise his grey eyebrows in alarm as he turned to regard the young Slytherin and Legilimens with a look of utter astonishment on his lined features.

"What would be the fun in revealing that to you? I do believe, _that_ remains why we are _here_ , Mr. Brennan, but considering the poor thing is still deep in the throes of sleep, we cannot _ask_ her." Noticing Ollie's crestfallen expression, Albus Dumbledore allowed a dark little chuckle to escape his lips. "Why not try _speaking_ to the young woman? I've heard talking to one in a night of deep sleep can sometimes rouse them, cause them to become more aware of their surroundings. _Talk_ to her…"

Ollie startled, feeling what little color remained in his face drain completely, and the blood rushed to his face and eardrums as his heart thrummed wildly against its cage.

Could he…could he talk to her?

Was it really that simple? Father had always taught him to be wary of witches that weren't' purebloods, and his father's words flitted through his mind.

_Oliver, as time passes, the seductions of women will never die, but you must fight this urge_. His heart tremored within him as Father's menacing baritone voice clouded his thoughts. _If you should ever bring home a witch that is anything less than pure and noble blood, I should flay you alive until there's no skin left on you, boy._

The memory of Father's voice the last time they had spoken shortly before Ollie's graduation from Hogwarts in his seventh year was clouded, but the dark-haired, blue-eyed former Slytherin could still recall his father's cold and daunting glower.

Gods be damned, but he felt… _wrong_ , or more so, what he was feeling right now was wrong. It just _had_ to be. Father had instilled in Oliver at a young age to be wary of witches who weren't pureblooded, to never trust them, but no matter how hard Ollie had tried to believe and follow in Father's advice after Tonks had come into his life, he couldn't.

A sudden and sharp pain thrashed through his heart. How could what he was feeling possibly be true? Tonks. And for some strange reason, this girl.

How could both of them be _evil_? Tonks had been the one to show Ollie what it meant to be kind and had changed the way he viewed the world the moment she had spoken up for him during a hearing at the Ministry of Magic where he had been called in to testify against one of his former friends.

Their bond was forever inseparable, no matter whom Dora married, and as much as his heart ached for Tonks to be his, his dream could never come to fruition.

She had chosen Remus, not him.

The moment of the young woman's serene blue eyes opening when he'd held her outside the front steps of Headquarters drenched his memory.

Ollie never would have imagined a witch besides Tonks could invoke these old, forgotten feelings yet, here he stood, broken, scarred, beaten, but still nevertheless very much feeling… _feeling_ … Feeling _what_? His brow furrowed in a frown as he wracked his brain trying to determine just exactly what it was that he was feeling right now.

Whatever he was feeling, something deep within Ollie fought against it. These feelings were light and breathless, yes, but underneath it all, there was something dark lurking within the man's heart.

This 'wrong' feeling. Not only did he feel 'wrong' by looking at this young witch this way, but a snakelike voice that sounded entirely too much like his former Head of House and now fellow Order member, Snape, sat at the back of his mind.

It taunted poor Ollie Brennan. His blue eyes were left unblinking, his breaths hitching in his throat.

_You are truly pathetic_. The voice was a mixture of Snape and his father's, Jack's voice. _You have not learned your lesson at all, Oliver, have you_? These intrusive thoughts left Ollie speechless. _Oh! And what would Dora say to all of this?_

Ollie let out a barely audible moan and a heavy hand found its way to his face, though he dared not tear his gaze away from the young blonde witch still unconscious on the bed. Ollie tightly snapped his tired eyes shut in an attempt to drown out the voices.

The mocking tone was laced with judgment and a sickening amusement that made his stomach churn and a coil in his gut twist, until he thought he might be sick.

Unfortunately, he was familiar with the tone.

_Did you love Tonks? Truly love her. From what it looks like, you've moved from one girl to the next, you're no better than Black, flitting through them like they're just scrolls of parchment_.

"No!" Ollie's cracking voice erupted from the confines of his chest, throat, and lips as though this single utterance would be the silencer to the disgusting voices that mocked him in his mind.

His shallow breaths worsened as the seconds passed, and if Professor Dumbledore, who still stood patiently next to Ollie, was at all disturbed by Ollie's speaking to himself, he made no mention of it.

"Y—you're w— _wrong_. I—I'm happy…" he choked out, burying his head in his hands, pieces of black hair sticky every which way as they tangled his fingers as he seized on a tuft of hair and tugged.

The poor bloke was practically hysterical at this point. Ollie's lungs burned as the air thrashed in and out of him at a speed that he couldn't slow down to save his life.

The thundering of his heart beating numbed his chest, his throat hollowing and tightening. Ollie was sure slick tears would slip from his eyes at any moment.

He tried in vain to fight down the salty liquid and looked around the room for something to distract his thoughts with.

His gaze, yet again, landed on the young witch and he recollected Professor Dumbledore's words.

If she were in pain, and this witch laying motionless was looking more dead than alive on the bed did happen to be in pain, he wanted to be able to do something about it, though he, the monster that he was, thanks to Jack Brennan's upbringing, did not deserve such a celestial-like creature by his side, still wanted to try to help her in what way he could.

But what the bloody hell on Merlin's green earth could he honestly do that the Healer already hadn't, other than ensuring Mrs. Weasley brought up a plate for her in case she got hungry when she woke? Could he…could he perhaps speak to the girl?

One glance at the Headmaster out of the corner of his eye told Ollie that Dumbledore was not going to help him out with this, judging by the twinkling sheen in the older wizard's light bright blue orbs.

Ollie's stomach churned and revolted at such a thought, but considering she still showed no signs of waking up, he saw no harm in what it could do.

_Maybe Albus is right_ , he thought wildly, biting down on his lip in a nervous fit of agitation. Perhaps it would pull the woman from her unconsciousness.

It was worth a try, at the least. Taking a cautious half step forward towards the young witch's bed, Ollie nervously cleared his throat.

"Ah, h—hello," he whispered, his voice suddenly quite hoarse and he felt as though he were making a bloody fool of himself, thinking this could not possibly get anymore awkward than it already was, though as he glanced back over his shoulder to gauge Dumbledore's reaction, he was relieved to see the Headmaster and Order of the Phoenix give him a light, encouraging nod, urging him to continue.

Steeling his breath, he exhaled a puff of breath before continuing.

"Y—you're probably confused, thinking…h—how the bloody hell did you wind up in this mess. I know I—I sure am," Ollie stammered. His blue eyes widened in shock.

Oh, gods be damned, that could be taken utterly the wrong way, and he immediately stammered and began trying to correct himself.

"N—not that I blame you for what happened, of course. I—I don't usually find myself in a position where I have to save a woman," he joked weakly, letting a soft, albeit nervous chuckle escape his lips as he twisted his hands together. "We're going to be partners. I…look forward to getting to know you. For what it's worth, and my word isn't much, but…I'm glad you're here with us. And _safe_."

Ollie desperately wracked his brain for something more to say, but the shy, damaged Slytherin could not for the life of him, not even if he were being held at wandpoint, formulate his thoughts into words, at least not any that would make sense.

It did not help his spiking anxiety levels or his blood pressure that he was afraid the blonde creature on the bed would wake up at any moment, and once she got a good look at him, at his face, she'd want nothing to do with the scarred, broken bastard that he had always known himself to be in this life.

This was admittedly something Ollie had been hoping to avoid thinking of for a while, if, once this woman, this stranger, woke and she saw the broken bastard standing in front of her, cracked and taped together at the seams, but very much feeling, what she would think of him, if of anything at all, really.

As he crept closer towards the bed, inching his way forward for a better look, it quickly became apparent that at least a little bit of color had returned to the witch's complexion. He knew he could not avoid meeting her face-to-face forever.

Though Ollie was well aware that the moment the young woman took one look at the scars that littered his face and extended their way down his neck and torso, though more specifically, at the burn mark that scarred under his right eye, from when his father had punished him with an Incendio Charm when he was only twelve years old, that just that alone would be enough to frighten the girl back into her state of unconsciousness if his face happened to be the first thing she laid eyes on.

Maybe lingering in the shadows of the room behind the door while Dumbledore did the talking when she woke up would be the best course of action for him to take, though it made him feel like such a Merlin-damned bloody coward, and he hated himself for it, though Ollie couldn't help it.

Gods be damned. He'd never had to deal with a problem of this magnitude before. Ollie felt his mind was racing. He'd not felt this nervous since he'd first met Tonks in his sixth year, and she was a third year. Their relationship, at least his feelings for her, were forbidden, taboo. He'd rather not think about it.

A fast hand found its way to his head as he brushed through his thick tuft of short black hair nervously. _No_. He could not let her see him.

Though the thought of allowing the celestial like creature before him to see his wretched face, to look upon the burn mark that marred an otherwise handsome visage, it made him bloody nervous and his stomach to churn and swoop nauseously, it still gave Ollie something to hope for, that she'd wake.

Just then, the young blonde stirred in her sleep, making a small noise at the back of her throat, her eyelids fluttering a few times and her fingers snaking through the bedsheets as she rolled on her side.

_Oh, goddamn_ , Ollie thought, grinding his teeth. The fact that she stirred left the dark-haired Legilimens with a feeling of truly amazing conflict.

He could not let his newly appointed partner see his marred face, to let those piercing eyes of blue that reminded the man of his own see his burn scar just underneath his right eye that no salve or magic could heal.

A permanent reminder that Father hated him and Jack Brennan always would.

This, to let her _see_ him, would be a brand new injury, a brand new humiliation, a new part of him that this witch would ultimately shatter. His sense of safety would be no more.

And yet, at the same time, there was a feeling of satisfaction at seeing the girl stir, knowing that she would wake, and soon Ollie could see her features more clearly for himself.

To look at the girl's beauty, wanting nothing but to bottle it for himself and keep it selfishly. It was not something he could articulate.

Thanks to his father, the concept of showing his emotions was a foreign thing to him, and this conflict within the former Slytherin caused his hands to tremble with rage.

He wanted to track down Father and kill him. Again, and again and again. He wanted to send the last and worst of the Unforgiveable Curses, the Killing Curse, straight to the man's chest and watch the light leave his eyes.

He wanted Father dead, but more importantly than that…he wanted this young woman to wake.

To look into her eyes, to see the brilliant pools of crystalline blue again. The woman made a noise, and Ollie went completely rigid as his limbs tensed and froze up, rendering him motionless and unable to move.

It was bloody happening, this was _it_ , Dumbledore's advice of talking to the girl worked.

Merlin damn it, it had _worked_! He couldn't believe it.

She was waking up.


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

**NORAH** slowly opened her tired eyes, seeing the visions of an unfamiliar room clear from a hazy, slow blur.

A ceiling fan, slowly rotating in a lazy way, was the first thing that met her clouded vision.

She then reminded herself once more, that she herself was now clouded with a certain disability, the way her hand ached and throbbed.

Her sleep had been deep, but not entirely peaceful. Images had flashed before her, more like fragmented thoughts than actual dreams.

Some were benign and more memorable, but most had passed Jameson by too quickly for the young werewolf to comprehend what was going on inside her mind, leaving a dark, unsettling presence in their wake.

Her eyes flickered open and shut again, barely perceptively. She was beginning to wake up now, but her already weak body ached, screaming for relief that she knew was not going to come for her anytime soon.

Why did she feel this way? Had she been drugged? Had someone drugged her, was _that_ it? And she wasn't in a room that she recognized. The first thing she was made aware of was how much her head _hurt_.

She lay against a soft pillowcase for a while longer, in a semi-conscious haze, feeling like she was teetering on the brink between the darkness of her nightmares and the brilliant light of the real world, wherever 'here' was for her.

She could see and hear a voice, a man's voice, speaking to her, but whoever he was, he was distant and distorted, an indistinct ripple that couldn't fully penetrate the gauze that stretched over her perception of the world around Norah.

Her hair felt damp from slight perspiration, and everything ached with a feverish chill, and her skin felt like rough sandpaper.

Norah could not recall another time past the most recent full moon where she felt so drained and weakened.

What bothered her, even more, was how much her ankle throbbed. The young woman's eyes remained closed, but her mind was racing a mile a minute.

The last thing she remembered was Rookwood getting one over on her, and someone had saved her life, but everything after that was a hazy blur.

It only took a few seconds for everything to come rushing back to her and her eyes shot open.

Where the bloody hell _was_ she, even?

Norah found herself starting up at a slowly rotating ceiling fan in a dimly lit room with peeling old floral wallpaper. Norah attempted to lift her head but found it felt as if a stone had replaced her brain and rolled to the back of her skull, forcing the young witch to leave it pressed to the pillow for now.

She lay collapsed against the pillow, forcing her breaths to regulate to normally, as Norah willed herself to breathe calmly and slowly, though she could not ignore the raging fever threatening to burn her up from the inside, nor the swooping churning nausea rolling through the pit of her upset stomach.

And then, like a series of memoirs rolling through her head, it all came back to her. Greyback's plan, his threat of what he would do to her if she couldn't manage to locate the Order's Headquarters and infiltrate, seduce this Brennan boy, her own uncle's murderer.

Perhaps a little too quickly, Norah bolted upright in her bed, realizing that was the wrong choice to make. She could hear a voice speaking to her in a curt and annoyed tone, a young man's voice.

"No, don't get up, y—you need to stay lying down, darling."

She parted her cracked lips open to speak, trying to tell whoever was speaking to her from the shadows that she couldn't and to never _ever_ call her _darling_ again unless they valued not getting a bite from her and their eyes carved from their head, the Muggle way, she had to find out where she was, as she raised her upper half off the bed.

Norah bolted to her feet, and almost instantaneously, the room she was in started spinning.

Her head began pounding against her temples and her eyes went completely unfocused. Norah could hear a man's voice to her right, but just as she tried to turn her head to find his location, wondering if this was the same man who had saved her life from Rookwood, the girl felt nausea creeping over her, and it caused her stomach to lurch.

Her throat tightened and her mouth salivated enough to know she'd made the wrong damn mistake in getting up at all.

The young witch glanced wildly to the left and right and spotted a half-open door across the hallway that led to what looked to be a small bathroom connected to the bedroom and bolted.

The wave of nausea was so intense that her stomach contracted so violently that she barely made it to the toilet bowl, slamming the door shut behind her, not wanting whoever was in the room with her to see her like this.

Nausea, courtesy of both her post-transformation from this month's full moon and a side effect of when she had hit her head on the sidewalk outside earlier and passed out, clawed at her throat, and Norah tried to force down the bile, but it was too late.

Norah sank to her knees and vomited into the toilet, retching until only clear liquid was coming up. Her throat felt sore from the stomach acid that was layering it and her mouth now tasted of vomit. The stomach-acid stench of vomit filled her nostrils.

Norah pulled back and surveyed the mess in the toilet bowl with watery, red-rimmed eyes and her stomach dry-heaved again.

She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and shakily rose to her feet, wishing she had her wand to conjure a toothbrush with which to brush her teeth to rid her mouth of the disgusting taste of vomit, but the sink water was just going to have to do.

Standing on shaking legs that felt as though she had been hit with a Jelly Legs Curse, Norah turned on the faucet sink and rinsed out her mouth as best as she could, emotions swirling with the ice-cold water circling the cold metal drain as streaks of fire burned her cheeks as a few stray tears escaped her lids.

Each new wave a hot trail of agony as her shoulders shock wracked her thin, slender frame.

The fire of shame and anger burned just underneath her skin and a deep, sorrowful emptiness at what Greyback was making her do filled her heart as the sentiments brewed over and boiled past the seams Norah Jameson could no longer hold together.

Norah glanced up at her peaky reflection in the mirror and immediately flinched, wishing she hadn't looked.

She froze when she saw herself in the dirty bathroom mirror coated in dust and grime, looking as though it hadn't been cleaned in Merlin only knew how long.

Her knuckles bone white as she clenched onto the edge of the sink.

She stared at her reflection, more specifically the area of skin near her collarbones, just above her right breast. At the three angry scars, white, pink against her pearly skin tone. They were strange-looking scars, of that there was no denying, an odd mixture of bright white and dark, obvious pink.

Norah supposed she should have been grateful the wolf who'd bitten her, ruined her life, hadn't gone for her face, she thought bitterly.

The skin of her collarbones near the scars themselves was pulled taut and tight, and also slightly discolored, suggesting that the bitemark that had turned her when she was a little girl would never fully heal properly.

Norah slowly unclenched one of her hands from the edge of the porcelain sink and lightly brushed it down her scar, tracing the jagged lines with the pads of her fingers, hissing in ire at the werewolf who'd bitten her, ruined her life, and made her a monster.

Norah sighed and turned her head sharply to the left, biting her bottom lip in a sense of anguish.

Even after all this time, she was still only ever able to look upon it for no longer than a minute. Her knuckles were white with the effort to steady her shaking form upright against the white porcelain sink, and she forced herself to look into the monster's eyes.

As her own reflection stared right back at her, her lips curled up in disgust and her nostrils flared in agitation. Her mind felt as if lead were coursing through it rather than blood, and she averted her gaze from her own image because if she was forced to look into the eyes of the monster again, Norah thought she might very well vomit again.

Disgust. Total disgust is what she felt. There was no changing what she was, this—this monster, this _beast_ , this demonic, accursed—

There came a knock at the door and a voice. Norah froze, her blue eyes widening in shock.

"Are you all right?" came a male's voice from the other side of the closed door.

Norah's eyes widened and the scream that emerged from her lips was so loud, so incredibly loud, and high-pitched as she faltered backward from the sink and in her haste to look for another way out away from here, wherever here was, she latched onto the shower curtain behind her and fell backward into the tub and hit her head. _Again_.

Groaning, Norah lifted a hand to the back of her skull, not surprised when the edges of her fingertips came away slightly bloodied.

Letting out an agonized moan, Norah collapsed, lacking the strength to untangle herself from the tub.

"Just—just let me lay here, let me _bleed_ ," she moaned. "It'll be good for me," she snapped, lowering her voice.

Though whoever was on the other door seemed to have no intentions of allowing that to happen.

Norah squeezed her eyes tightly shut and turned her head to the right the moment the door burst open so violently, the thing shook in its rusted hinges, and a burst of blinding white light filled her vision.

She thought she might get sick again from the way her head throbbed and pounded against her temples, and she felt herself begin to squirm as she forced herself upright into a sitting position, managing to wriggle her way back to the furthermost corner of the tub and assumed a defensive position.

Though she was still considerably weakened and in no condition to put up any kind of a fight, she wasn't going anywhere easily with a stranger.

She didn't even know where she _was_! She felt her lips part open as she let out a low, wolfish hiss, and her hackles raised, silently warning whoever had entered into the bathroom not to come any closer or she would bite them.

As her eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness, Norah slowly swiveled her head to find a man close to her age, perhaps a few years older, staring at her.

"Are you hurt?" The stranger answered in a flat voice. "Answer me," he said, his voice low but quite clear.

"S—stay _away_ from me!" Norah warned threateningly, baring her incisors, which were still sharpened, pointing, and she watched in a sick satisfaction as the dark-haired stranger recoiled, a look of fleeting disgust on his features at her savage snarling and growling as she attempted to retreat further within herself, though she lifted her chin and forced herself to get a good, long look at him.

The man's eyes were piercing blue, like hers, like the sky on a clear winter's morning.

Though she had eyes, Norah never quite fully trusted what she saw through her wolfish sight. She had been deceived one too many times by Greyback.

However, they were, at the moment, anything _but_ kind. The man's burning blue eyes burned like midnight torches, and Norah could clearly see the loathing that spiraled within them, though why his anger was directed towards her, she had no idea.

But there was something else: something she began to shiver for, something that, in her mind, resembled abhorrence, and even worse, frustrated… _desire_.

She recognized the look quite well, having seen it hours ago in Rookwood's eyes.

The young chap who was confronting her in the bathroom of…wherever she was, was arresting and utterly hypnotic. A light, rough sort of a beard graced his strong jawline.

Norah, who did not put much stock into a person's appearance, could not deny this fellow was most likely not made of the same flesh and blood as most people were.

His face was not princely like the handsome princes in the fairytales her parents had read to her before they died, her _real_ parents, but he had the strong build of a man underneath this thick black woolen sweater and jeans, the kind of man she once imagined to embrace before Father made her realize that no one would love a monster like her.

Norah let out an audible gasp of revulsion the second her eyes landed on a horrific-looking burn mark underneath the man's right eye that marred and twisted the skin around it until it looked like one of those rubber masks the Muggle children wore on Halloween.

A grotesque, ugly scar, of that there was no denying. She thought him a plain chap. But she was not about to be fooled a second time.

Norah had made that mistake a long time ago thinking she could trust Father and look what Greyback was making her do with her life.

The moment his hand outstretched towards hers, she shivered, but not from the cold or her fever that was sending waves of heat through her bloodstream, igniting it hotter than dragon's fire.

" _Leave_ ," she hissed in a short, disconnected, and emotionless tone, shakily rising from the bathtub, and almost tripping over the curtain again.

The man shot out an arm to catch her as she stumbled forward, though she violently jerked away from his grasp and shot her hands along the edge of the wall in order to steady her trembling legs.

She was not about to let this man get anywhere _near_ her. Greyback's stupid plan was just going to have to wait.

Anger rose within her when he spoke up.

" _No_." Just one word, but more than enough. The man's eyes darkened, almost cerulean in color as he straightened his posture and stood upright to his full height of around 6'3 if Norah had to hazard a guess at the man's height.

Suddenly, a loud, slow, threatening, impatient exhale was heard coming from someone, and it took Norah a moment to realize the noise came from her as the sound exited through her nostrils.

Norah swallowed down hard as another wave of nausea wracked her form, and her fingernails scraped the edge of the wall for support as she slowly inched her way towards the door that would take her back out into the unfamiliar, nasty bedroom.

Whoever lived here certainly didn't take pride in appearances. This hovel was truly filthy.

Her attention was thrown in overdrive as the man moved deftly and with a surprising speed to stand in front of the doorway, blocking her exit. His stubbornness seemed to keep him planted in his spot.

His wand clutched tightly in his hand, he raised it half-heartedly, looking as though he meant to jinx her, and Norah's body stiffened.

She braced herself, preparing for the worst.

" _What_?" she snapped in a voice that was low and surprisingly calm, though Norah recognized the menacing undertone of the wolf within her.

The man remained unfazed, standing his ground, though she swore she caught the briefest flickers of anger and annoyance flit through those piercing eyes of blue of his, and she didn't like it.

"I said _no_." The man's answer in his deep voice was firm and louder to punctuate the wizard's unwillingness to comply with Norah's wish that he leaves her alone. "You're _injured_ and _hurt_. You need medical attention and to lie back down, Miss…?" He paused, his voice trailing off slightly.

Norah startled at hearing the man's voice more clearly as her wolfish hearing perked up at the soft, tenor-like tone of the man's quiet, reserved voice.

Though right now, he sounded annoyed with Norah's resistance and general reluctance to accept his help.

But…she did not _know_ this man, nor did she particularly want to, by the way, he looked at her. She could feel his eyes crawling up her body. Norah narrowed her eyes at the dark-haired, blue-eyed stranger's stubbornness.

She clenched her jaw in anger and back to weakly move past the man's broad figure blocking her exit, hoping to duck underneath the man's arm, though he shot out his arm and latched onto her forearm, gripping onto it tightly.

Norah flinched and stepped back a few paces at his sudden pouncing. She didn't want to show him fear, she knew it would only feed his strange dominance he was currently exhibiting.

The second he moved forward, she faltered. His abrupt brazenness made the worst of her anger towards this man dissipate, only to be replaced by fear, not liking how his cobalt blue eyes darkened, almost cerulean in color the angrier he became.

_He wants to know my name_ , Norah thought wildly, noticing how at first, his gaze appeared hardened, though as his eyes briefly wandered and settled on her injured, bandaged hand, she swore something within the man shifted and softened.

It was this that prompted her to tell him her name only, thinking that she was not about to allow this man to call him by her first name until he acted more civil towards her and did not demand things of Norah.

"Norah Jameson," she answered simply in a soft, shaking voice. Norah swallowed down past the lump in her throat. "Who are _you_?" she shot back.

She had told the man _her_ name, it was only fair he now told her _his_. She drew in a breath, waiting for him to speak.

"Ollie," the man retorted in a smooth, languid voice. "Ollie Brennan," he said quietly, lifting his chin and his gaze to better look at Norah just then.

Norah felt a cold chill waft over her as her heart dropped to the pit of her churning stomach, and she thought as she felt it lurch, she might get sick again.

Oh, Merlin's left… _this_ was the man Father wanted her to seduce? The one that killed _Uncle Bryce_?! This…this _had_ to be some kind of sick joke. He—he _couldn't_ be the one! Father was _wrong_! He just _had_ to be wrong!

Norah reluctantly lifted her gaze and desperately searched the man's face for any hint or shred that he might be toying with her, playing with her emotions by lying to her and not revealing his true name, but one look at the man's solemn blue eyes that were laced with just a hint of melancholy told Norah Jameson the truth: that he was not lying.

Merlin's Beard, oh, _god_ , but she couldn't _do_ this! Norah felt bile rise in her throat, and she wanted nothing more than to lash out at her uncle's murderer, to scream at him and hex him where he stood for killing the one good family relation Greyback had, who might have changed him.

Norah blinked back the beginning of briny, salty tears, though before she could take a staggering step backward and violently wrench her arm free of the man's surprisingly iron-tight grip, his brilliant blue eyes wandered to her bandages.

"You're bleeding, Miss Jameson," Ollie Brennan answered curtly in a hardened tone by way of response, sounding on the brink of annoyance. "Please, Jameson, allow me to see it. It will do no one any good if you continue to allow it to bleed and become infected, least of all _you_ ," he said in a voice that, though still sounded quite perturbed the fuss that Norah was making, now carried a slight begging tone to his lilt as he took a step forward and reached out a hand.

Norah shrank back into the corner of the bathroom even more, scared.

" _Don't_ call me that," she snapped in a clipped and aggressive tone, allowing the she-wolf within herself to come out for a moment. "Just Jameson, Brennan. Only _friends_ call me Norah," she hissed. "You've not earned the _right_ ," Norah hissed lowly, baring her sharpened fangs in a show of anger and fear.

Ollie's face paled and drained of color as the man's mind processed her words.

There was something disgustingly noble about the way this young blonde werewolf was behaving towards him, after all, that he had done in helping save her life.

He felt an unpleasant bitterness and anger at the back of his throat as his father's temper surged within his chest.

What did she think she was, then? A _saint_? Ollie let out a frustrated growl as he gnashed his teeth together and carded his fingers through his black hair, not liking seeing the girl's terrified expression as those haunting blue eyes lingered on the burn mark underneath his right cheek.

It quickly became clear to Ollie that Norah Jameson saw nothing but a monster. And of course, she would be right, yes…

Norah Jameson looked up at him with defiant eyes as Ollie, without even thinking of what he was doing, lifted his hand once more and slowly grazed her purpling and bruised cheek with the back of his hand gently.

Ollie heard Jameson gasp slightly at the contact, and her pallid cheek was surprisingly warm. Feverish, even.

The girl was burning up. He felt a sudden urge to continue caressing her cheek. Managing to control the urge rapidly rising as the fire within his stomach and chest, Ollie reluctantly let his hand gently slide off before stepping back.

He heard her sigh with relief before stepping back, her shoulders slumping with relief he hadn't tried anything else.

It was then that his father's inherited temper within him snapped. Gritting his teeth, Ollie glared at Jameson. Was he really _that_ much of a monster? That despicable?

Out of the corner of his peripherals, he swore he caught Albus Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes staring at the pair of them in an almost amused gesture, which set his blood aflame in his veins.

Did the Order founder think this a _joke_?! The girl was _injured_ and refusing his help. Was Dumbledore _out_ of his _mind_ by assigning him _her_? Was he perhaps short of a marble or two?!

Ollie knew he would not be able to work with this witch if she continued to fight and resist his efforts to help her like this.

Ollie blew out a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut, silently willing to Merlin or anyone up there if anyone would listen to a monster, a bastard such as him, that he could calm down. He did not _want_ to yell at her, but Jameson was being so…so _difficult_!

"Let me _help_." Ollie continued to offer and merely receive a hiss in response from the young blonde werewolf. "You're bleeding, Jameson. You're _hurt_. Allow me to help…"

Though the moment he raised his wand, with the intent to conjure a salve and fresh bandages to apply to her bleeding hand and the purple bruises on her cheek, he knew that had been a grave mistake.

Her face drained of color. "I—I don't **NEED** your help! Ngh—let _go_ of me!" Norah screamed, her breathing starting to go uneven and she swayed a bit. Her arms were still bracing against the wall for support.

Ollie flinched at the harshness of his new partner's voice but stayed motionless in the doorway of the spare bedroom's bathroom.

She was practically pressed up against his body at this point, and Ollie could see the details of the condition the young wolf was in.

Her short blonde hair was in a disarray from sweat, strands of hair clinging to her cheeks and forehead. Her skin was pale, clammy, bruised, her blue eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed at the edges.

The man knew from the look of her, she'd not slept. Ollie wondered if she'd eaten recently.

Finally, Jameson's legs buckled from sheer lack of strength, and she landed on her knees, though Ollie moved with surprising speed and caught the worst of her fall, holding the girl up in a hugging position, and he was relieved the werewolf didn't try to fight him.

He knew Jameson was entirely too weak. Without a word, he lifted the young blonde witch to a standing position with the strength of his legs and shoulders.

Ollie threw one of his arms around her neck, encircling his arm around the small of her back, and they both hobbled outside to the room.

Once they were near the comfortable-looking leather armchair that rested in one of the bedroom's corners, Ollie gingerly set Norah back against the chair and Jameson instantly went limp.

She collapsed her head back against the headrest of the chair and wearily closed her eyes. Her lids went heavy, and Ollie, fearing she would go to sleep and not wake up for several more hours, felt worried as the foreign emotion wormed its way into his stomach, despite his anger and annoyance with this witch.

He snapped his fingers in her face and Jameson blinked rapidly.

"Jameson?" he barked roughly in a rough, grating voice that sounded like sandpaper.

She tried to stay at attention as she blinked rapidly and groaned as she forced herself to sit upright in a chair, and Jameson looked at Ollie coherently enough to allow Ollie to get a word in edgewise.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked. A numb shake of her head no mutely. He sighed, feeling his shoulders slump forward in defeat. He should have expected as much from this one. Ollie blew out a deep breath and continued. "You're in the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Surely, you know Dumbledore?"

Jameson responded to his questions by merely raising an eyebrow in alarm at Ollie's statement.

"Who _doesn't_?" she snapped in an angry tone. "The man's the most eccentric-"

Ollie bristled, cutting her off, gnashing his teeth together in annoyance, feeling his blood boil within his veins.

_No one_ insulted Albus Dumbledore in front of him, not when the man had done so much for him, given him a chance to prove his worth to the Order when no one else dared to go near him, all because of who his father was, and the burn mark under his eye that automatically labeled him as a form of beast or monster.

He balled his hands into fists, his fingers of his wand hand twitching to draw his wand, though he did not want to argue with her.

"You _dare_ insult Hogwarts' Headmaster, _werewolf_? You watch your _mouth_ around the Headmaster—" he started to say, though the quiet, reserved voice of Professor Dumbledore interjected whatever Ollie had been about to say to the young blonde werewolf next.

"I do believe that is _quite_ enough, Oliver Brennan and Norah Jameson, don't you agree?"

Norah jerked her head away from her challenger as Ollie rose up to his full height again, towering over her from her place in the armchair that his shadow completely engulfed her in the darkness.

_Fitting_ , she thought bitterly, _considering what Father is ordering me to do_ , Norah thought.

There, nestled in the corner of the dimly lit bedroom, was Professor Dumbledore himself.

Immediately, Norah felt her cheeks begin to redden. Oh, Merlin's pants, she'd had no idea!

Albus's pristine set of gray robes that swooshed and billowed behind him as he strode towards Ollie and Norah's positions were neat and immaculate, a rather comfortable looking gray scarf draped loosely around his neck.

One end was thrown casually over his left shoulder while the other tail hung down his front. Norah's blue eyes widened.

Clasping his hands in front of him in a rather business-like manner, Dumbledore gave a small incline of his head towards Norah before speaking.

"I do believe that is _enough_ ," he repeated. "Kindly still your rage, Mr. Brennan. The young lady is quite right. I do tend to behave eccentrically at times, a side effect of my intellectual intelligence, Oliver. She meant no harm. Seeing as your new partner within the Order, Miss Jameson," Here, he paused to send Brennan a wane, reproachful stare. "Has _forgotten_ proper edict and how to behave towards a young woman in a respectful manner, then it falls to me. May I ask, how you came to be in Remus Lupin and Oliver Brennan's company on this dreary evening?"

_Wait_. _What_? Norah blinked owlishly as she felt her eyes widen until they were the size of dinner plates. Her…her _partner_?! Merlin, but could today possibly get any _worse_?

It was bad enough that Greyback was forcing her to seduce this accursed bastard of a man, but now, _Dumbledore_ was forcing the two of them to work alongside each other?

Was Fate, that cruel bastard, truly so unkind to her? Norah swallowed thickly past the lump in her throat as she felt it hollow and constrict. Apparently, it was.

"Ah, f—forgive me, Headmaster," she stammered, struggling to find the right words, "but, ah, _what_?"

Professor Dumbledore shot Brennan a dark look as Ollie made an odd little strangled noise in the back of his throat that suggested he agreed with Norah's sentiment, and the man fell silent, waiting.

Norah snorted as the handsome man rolled his eyes before turning his blue gaze on her.

"Albus, I think she hit her head harder than Remus and I thought. Just _look_ at her. She's in _no_ condition to do night watch alongside me for the next several nights, at best. I think you've made a grave mistake in appointing me to be this girl's partner." He huffed in frustration and looked away, his jaw tensing.

"My decision on this is _final_. _Both_ of you," Albus added in a stern voice that was quite clipped, as he fixed Ollie and Norah with a rather pointed stare, "will _kindly_ put aside your differences and work alongside one another for the time being, but…considering the circumstances, Mr. Brennan, I think it best if I speak to the young witch _alone_. We don't need a repeat of events, do we?"

Norah drew in a sharp breath that pained her bruised ribcages from where she'd fallen earlier when Rookwood had grabbed her roughly as Brennan glared at Dumbledore for a moment before sparing a brief glance in Norah's direction.

A muscle in the man's jaw twitched, and the burnt skin underneath his right eye was pulled tight and taut, and, in the dim light of the bedroom, given how tall and towering the raven-haired chap was, it gave him a truly grotesque and frightening appearance.

Norah shivered, though not with cold. Her chest heaved as the man's piercing blue eyes met hers and locked on, not pulling away, and Norah felt hot liquid immediately pool in her gut.

Norah's face flushed in horror as she realized her body was reacting to her current situation as her mind struggled to process that she had made it.

She was _here_ , in the Order of the Phoenix, and the man whom Father wanted her to seduce was truly _monstrous_.

Her first initial impression of him was the man would have made a fine werewolf.

Norah decided to further goad the man further, by simply smiling at him, to kill the bloke with kindness. It's what her mother, Rena Lestrange, back home, would have told her to do.

Brennan furrowed his brows and frowned at her in response as his face rapidly paled, and then turned on the heels of his boots and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him so hard that the door rattled in its hinges.

Norah flinched at the loud noise that her overly sensitive wolfish hearing picked up on.

She took a moment to glance around the now-empty room, save for her and Dumbledore, who was taking a moment to get himself situated.

He sat upon the edge of the mattress and merely was regarding Norah as though she were an interesting specimen that he'd caught a magical menagerie and did not know what to do with her.

Norah sighed sadly with a shake of her head before turning towards Professor Dumbledore.

"My new partner isn't very _friendly_ , _is_ he, Professor Dumbledore?" Norah asked dryly as she stared after the now-closed door, unable to believe what had just happened to her, thinking this was all a horrible mistake.

There was no way on Merlin's green earth she could do this. But judging by the look in Dumbledore's eyes, she knew there was no other option available to her at this time.

Like it or not, she was now Brennan's partner. And she was quick to decide that she did not like it.

Not. One. Bit.


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

**THE** young werewolf could not recall a time when she had ever felt more awkward or out of place as she shrank back into the oversized leather armchair as far as she could.

Norah swallowed nervously and offered the Hogwarts Headmaster a sheepish smile, flinching as she ran her tongue along the top wall of her teeth and over her sharp incisors.

She felt a fiery heat creep to her cheeks as she realized Albus Dumbledore was scrutinizing her ill and feverish appearance over the rims of his silver half-moon spectacles, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling, as though he knew more of her current predicament than he would ever dare let on at all.

To say it made her feel nervous was an understatement. She licked her lips to moisten them, though no moisture came. Only dryness.

_What if he knows_? Norah felt her eyes widen in shock and what little color was left in her pallid face drain from her, and she nervously lifted a hand and absentmindedly tugged at the cuticles of her nails.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and forced her mind to become blank and tranquil, hopefully revealing no details of the nature of Greyback's plans to Albus, the skilled Occlumens that she was.

"Are you well, Miss Jameson? Is there perhaps anything I could get for you? Food? A beverage?"

"I—n—no, th—that isn't necessary, Headmaster Dumbledore, I am fine," she stammered, feeling her blush intensify and the warmth spread to her chest.

Norah swallowed past the lump and tried to speak again, thinking that her voice sounded hoarse, and suddenly found herself wishing she would have taken the Headmaster up on his offer for water.

She parted her lips open to speak, though before she could get so much as a word in edgewise, Albus merely waved his wand and conjured a goblet of ice water for her in a chalice.

"I…thank you, sir…"

"It is no trouble," he chuckled, studying the young blonde through the lenses of his glasses as Norah lifted the goblet to her lips and heavily drank. "Well, my dear..." Dumbledore let out a haggard sigh and pinched at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Whatever on Merlin's green earth are we to do with the likes of you?"

Norah blinked owlishly at the aging warlock, not having anticipated that would have been the question he'd ask.

"Wh...what?" she stammered. "What are you do to with me...?" she breathed, not quite sure she understood.

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon silver spectacles as he studied the young blonde witch.

"Yes, my dear, for you see, you present to me and the rest of the Order quite a dilemma, Miss Jameson. This place, Grimmauld Place, is now your home, for better or worse. Considering known Death Eater Augustus Rookwood has you in his sights, I cannot send you back from whence you came, so, therefore, the only other alternative option you have available to you if you do not wish to stay in The Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley, is to stay here, my dear Miss Jameson."

He watched as his former student closed her eyes and took a deep breath, setting the water goblet down on a nearby small wooden side table and collapsed further back against the armchair.

Her shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

"Why is it, Professor, that no matter what I do, even if it's simply getting lost in the middle of the night, I still manage to screw everything up?" Norah cried.

Nevertheless, confused by her words, Dumbledore merely folded his arms across his chest and crossed one leg over the other. No doubt, he deemed, this would take some time to sort out.

Dumbledore let out a tired sigh and pinched at the bridge of his slender nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Please, Miss Jameson, you may begin whenever you feel that you are ready to begin recanting your version of the events that transpired tonight. While your new partner may have ungraciously forsaken his manners, please rest assured that _I_ have _not_ , my dear. Do not allow Mr. Brennan to intimidate you. He is brash and brazen, yes, but despite his outward ah, _physical_ appearance, and blatant talent for bluntness, he is quite an honorable man. You have my word, dear."

Norah shuddered at the Headmaster's words as visions of her new partner's face flitted through her mind, as though she were seeing these flashing images through a Pensieve.

With his short, thick black hair that looked like it had a mind of its own, a strong jaw and a strong discerning brow, and that light, close-cropped rough beard that suited the man's angular features, Ollie Brennan looked almost like a godly being. Well. _Almost._

The burn scar underneath his right eye marred his handsome visage, and Norah had been able to find no warmth in his crystalline blue eyes, which had stared at her only moments ago with such direct contempt and disgust that Norah was sure the bedroom they were in had instantly gone cold.

The man resembled a devil, a Dark wizard, for sure, and his following hostile behavior towards her not even five minutes ago more than confirmed this, in Norah's mind.

Brennan was a strange creature, flinging into a sudden rage and almost breaking her wrist by squeezing onto her wrist so tightly, with such a strength that was almost _wolfish_ , that poor Norah had no time to respond and was the furthest thing she would imagine the man her age would do.

Given Norah's current physical condition and the state of her injured hand and the rest of her ailments, she'd just wanted the man to go away, not wanting anyone near her, especially not Jack Brennan's son.

Even when he'd snarled and snapped at her, Norah still held her ground, feeling courage and conviction from within, feeling grateful, at the very least, that almost an entire life spent under Fenrir Greyback's thumb had taught her how to be brave.

There had been a reason indeed she'd been sorted into Gryffindor when she'd gone to Hogwarts. She had her own self-worth to think of. Despite her new partner's snarling and growling, she'd not caved.

But then… Norah gulped, not wanting to linger on the way he'd _looked_ at her.

There was that moment when he'd touched and caressed her cheek, had rested his surprisingly warm, if not rough and calloused hand against her skin with a startling subtlety, and such tenderness she had not believed him capable of.

Norah let out a shaking breath and opened her eyes. What the bloody hell had _that_ all been about?

He'd looked almost bewildered. Like he hadn't known what to do the moment he had, and the confusion in his blue eyes showed.

As to why that might be, Jameson had no idea, but she knew enough to know that it made her feel uncomfortable. Vulnerable.

Thankfully, he'd stepped away from her and let her sit in this chair afterward.

Maybe he had recognized her discomfort. Either way, that was the moment she'd truly become frightened, perhaps for the first time in her life.

The truth was, Jameson always believed herself to be resilient and strong.

As a werewolf, she couldn't afford not to be. She'd never felt scared of any man before, not after growing up with Fenrir. It wasn't as if she'd lacked experience, after all.

Plenty of the Dark Lord's followers would come up to her following a meeting, or when Master would force her to pour them all goblets of the fresh-made elvish wine during meetings, and one of them would try to come up and feel under her skirts.

She'd always managed to ward off such unwanted advances, even defend herself with her wand on more than one occasion.

But…but…but… there was something _dangerous_ lurking deep within Brennan, and it had nothing to do that she knew bloody well who he was. Jack Brennan's son.

Jack had been a highly-respected and high-ranking lieutenant of Lord Voldemort's.

She'd heard tales of the bastard son of Jack's, how his temper was rumored to be monstrous and wicked. Well.

She'd certainly see _that_ firsthand for herself and had _no_ desire to see it again if she could help it. Her new partner was unhinged and unpredictable.

_Like father, like son. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?_ Norah thought bitterly to herself, though she dared not give this thought a voice.

He took after Jack with his temper. One moment his voice was quite soft, almost kind, then the next he was sneering at her, looking almost disgusted just to lay eyes upon her.

Perhaps Brennan knew what she was and despised her kind. It would certainly explain the way he'd looked at her with such abhorrent loathing, but…but…

And _then_ he had touched her with such a surprising tenderness, almost like a lover would. Her eyes widened as she processed this. It was frankly all too much for Norah to process, but one thing was clear.

Brennan was _not_ what she'd expected. He had been staring at her in such _anger_ , and she had been sure the man would jinx her right there in the doorway of the bathroom of this room.

She did not know why he _hadn't_ , or why he'd helped her to her chair the moment she'd collapsed, but Norah supposed she should be grateful the man had at least a small amount of mercy within his black, putrid heart.

Perhaps Jack Brennan's son had taken pity on her, or realized with Dumbledore in the room alongside them, whatever he really wanted to do to her was too risky, not that it would have really, truly mattered.

Norah was sure Brennan could get away with almost anything, considering what little she knew of him, the type of family Brennan had grown up into.

But the way he'd looked at her before he'd stormed out of the room in a rage. The torment and pain and guilt-ridden on his pale face, the likes of which she'd never seen before in the son of a Death Eater, no less. It was, shockingly, the very last thing Norah expected to see in those eerily haunting eyes of his.

What could the son of Jack Brennan, who grew up amongst such wealth, everything handed to him on a platter, surrounded by everything that he could ever possibly want for himself, ever know of struggle or misery or prejudice and hatred the way that Norah and the rest of her kind, other lycanthropes like her, were subjected to? Nothing, that's what!

It didn't make any sense to her at all.

Norah would not dare let herself think it, but she could swear Brennan almost looked… _ashamed_. Perhaps it was of his familial history, coming from a long line where the men all served under either Grindelwald or Lord Voldemort's command, she didn't know.

The young blonde werewolf could see why the man kept people at arm's length and at a distance.

He did not want people to see that side of him. The ugly side. Ollie Brennan was _weak_ , immature, and incredibly volatile, and the fact that Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to appoint the man as her partner within the Order while she had been unconscious, with no say in the matter, did not sit well with her at all and caused resentment to bubble within Norah's chest.

Norah blinked when Dumbledore gave a light little cough to clear his throat as he peered over at the young blonde witch over his nose, a rather intrigued expression on his withered, lined face.

"Do not mind Mr. Brennan at the present moment, Miss Jameson. For now, _you_ are our main concern, my dear. However, if it will put your mind at ease, I shall ask you a question, and you, when you are ready, will answer it. Is this agreeable?"

Norah furrowed her brows, glancing down at her hands, which were resting on top of her thighs and shaking.

She let out a tired sigh and rubbed at her temples with her thumb and forefinger as she rested her head against the headrest of her chair.

"If _that's_ how my new partner treats people most times, especially witches, I don't _blame_ people for thinking he's a _monster_ , Dumbledore," she snarled meanly, remembering the lustful way he had looked at her, and it sent a shiver down her back.

"I _do_ apologize for the way Oliver reacted," Dumbledore profusely apologize, looking pained. "I can assure you, my dear lady, that what you witnessed just now is _not_ Mr. Brennan's normal temperament. He has…been under a great deal of stress lately due to, ah, some personal issues, dear. You need not fear your new partner, Miss Jameson, for Mr. Brennan is quite kind. The man is very timid and rather shy, I am afraid, believe it or not. He has not had much interaction throughout his life, save for his friendship with Miss Tonks and Mr. Lupin, who I hope you will meet and grow to like, in due time. Remus Lupin is like you, dear. Another werewolf. Perhaps you would like to meet him over dinner," he added, noting the glimmer of intrigue that was dawning in Norah's blue eyes.

Norah mutely nodded, thinking that another werewolf in the Order could come beneficial.

"Sir," she questioned, unable to keep the note of hope from seeping its way unbidden to the surface of her tone. "I—I hate to do this to you, sir, but I—I must ask…is there anyone here who can—"

But Professor Dumbledore merely chuckled and held up a withered hand to stop the young woman from speaking, cutting her off mid-flow.

"Fear not, Norah. Severus Snape is an Order member alongside Miss Tonks and Mr. Lupin and Brennan, and now, _you_ , if you should wish to have the vacant seat in our organization and has graciously agreed to faithfully brew the Wolfsbane Potion for Mr. Lupin every month. I am sure it will be no trouble to my Potions Master to make extra."

Norah blinked back her surprise, quickly nodding her agreement and she dipped her head so that the Headmaster would not see the tears welling in the corners of her eyes, stinging, and blurring her vision, which was still yellowed at the edges, yet another side effect of her post-transformations.

Professor Dumbledore was not at all fooled, however, by the gesture, and merely shot Norah a kind smile, his piercing icy blue eyes twinkling.

"Back to the matter of discussion at hand: your new partner. We were discussing Mr. Brennan. As I said before, he's had minimal interaction throughout his life. Oliver has…"

Albus's voice trailed off momentarily as he looked past Norah and seemingly at a spot on the floral peeling wallpaper behind the young blonde witch's head.

Norah frowned, able to tell for herself that the founder of the Order of the Phoenix looked troubled.

"He has not had it easy here, I will say that much," Dumbledore resumed speaking, his words slow and cautious, as if he wanted to mind his choice of words when speaking about a colleague.

He was not at all sure how much of Ollie's past as it pertained to his abusive relationship with his father, Death Eater Jack Brennan, he could divulge.

In the end, he decided against it, thinking it was not his business to share, and it would be up to Brennan to decide to disclose the truth to his new partner in time, provided the two moved past this initial rift and hopefully made amends with one another, though he suspected the girl was going to have to be the one to make the first move toward it.

Dumbledore frowned at that thought, thinking Oliver was the one who needed to apologize first. Nevertheless, sensing the witch's growing curiosity, he turned his head to the side once to cough before clearing his throat and continuing to speak.

"Mr. Brennan has had a very trying life, much more difficult than most young men his age, I'm afraid. He prefers the solitude of his own home to that of human company and social interaction. Since the man has joined the Order, I've attempted now on several occasions to entice the man to open up to me, but Mr. Brennan stubbornly maintains his distance. However, were you to ask my opinion…"

Here, he shot Norah a piercing look.

Norah silently bristled, thinking she had _not_ , as it happened, asked for the ancient warlock's opinion of the man, and yet, she knew Albus would freely offer it up regardless and let out a barely audible sigh.

Dumbledore sensed it but ignored it and continued speaking as though she had not made quite clear her disdain for his overall opinion of what he believed Ollie Brennan wanted of Norah.

"I think that…it would be good for your new partner if he were to make another friend, someone besides Miss Tonks and Mr. Lupin to connect with. Someone to encourage him, coax him out of his shell, perhaps. And I believe that someone is _you_."

Norah resisted the urge to roll her eyes, finding it increasingly difficult. Who on _earth_ could possibly be friends with such a boorish _brute_?!

"I don't _want_ to get to know Brennan, Dumbledore!" protested Norah hotly, raking her fingernails down the fabric of the sides of the armrest of her char in a sense of distress. "He—the way he talked to me just now, I don't know if you overheard any of that, the man is a _monster_! In every literal sense of the word! Death Eater Jack Brennan's son is a _beast_!" she shouted, momentarily forgetting her place, though the second the poisonous words of hatred spewed out of her mouth, she regretted it.

For one, Dumbledore's frown deepened, and Norah quickly realized a fraction of a second too late that she had perhaps let too much slip out, and for two, visions of the man's haunted, yet pained expression flitted through her mind, that look of regret his blue eyes had been brimming with before he'd turned on the heel of his boot and stormed out in a rage, slamming the door behind him, not bothering to look back at Norah even just once.

Dumbledore paused, lacing his fingers together, and turned his head slightly to regard Norah in a heavy, uncomfortable silence as her words hung in the air between them.

Ashamed of her behavior and her statement towards the man, she hung her head and wiped away a single tear that escaped her right eyelid with a well-practiced flick of her finger.

Tears, unfortunately, were no stranger to Norah Jameson at this stage in the werewolf's life.

"Come now, Miss Jameson, I implore you to see reason, my dear," came Professor Dumbledore's kind, quiet, and reserved voice that flowed through the dank and dimly lit room like a soft wind. "You must give Mr. Brennan a _chance_. If you are going to become an Order member, which, I confess, I would very much like you to be, you've got incredible talent, and I would be remiss if I did not advise you that this is your best course of action with Augustus Rookwood seemingly after you, if what they told me of tonight's events while on night duty are _true_. As his partner, you _will_ encounter Oliver Brennan on a regular basis, my dear, there is no way _around_ that. As long as you remain a guest within these walls, I will do whatever I can to ensure your safety and overall happiness, but I need you to give something back in return, and all I ask, is for you to _try_ , dear."

Regret washed over Norah as she processed his words, like the long slow waves on a shallow beach. Each wave was icy cold and sent shivers down her spine at the horrible way she had treated him. How she longed to go back and take a different approach, but now, thanks to her and her temper, that was utterly impossible. There was no way back.

There was no way she could even begin to make it right with Brennan. The remorse would eat at her every day of her life. She envied those pebbles on that beach, hard and lifeless, unable to feel the torments of a hard life, especially Norah's hard life. Norah swallowed past the lump in her throat, increasingly difficult, as it felt like she couldn't breathe.

"I—I know I made things worse by reacting. I—I didn't _mean_ to, I just…" Her voice cracked and broke, leaving the werewolf speechless.

How could she have yelled and provoked the man like that?

It wasn't like her at all. Under normal circumstances, she would have blamed the post-full-moon cycle for her irate temper and volatile behavior, but for what she'd done, there was no excuse that would be good enough or justify this.

If what Dumbledore was saying of Brennan was true, Norah should have immediately apologized for the moment the words fled from her lips and begged him to stay, that they could talk this out. She had no reason to doubt Brennan's integrity, from what little she knew of him thus far. Then, if that were the case, then, just as she was, this man was alone and could use someone to talk to. A friend, as Albus said, to ease the loneliness.

But…Merlin Himself be damned, the way she had reacted, and more importantly, the way he had _looked_ at her, hurt too much. The hurt and regret laced in those brilliant crystalline blue eyes of the man's.

It physically ached and tugged at her heartstrings. Norah swallowed, asking the one question that she wasn't sure she wanted an answer to, but she was going to ask it anyway. Her curiosity had been piqued, and there was no going back at all.

"What _happened_ to him? Why is that man so miserable?" she asked hoarsely, wildly gesticulating with one of her hands to the skin underneath her right eye, indicating she was asking of the burn mark that marred and twisted his pale, pristine skin.

At her question, Dumbledore's eyes clouded over, and his expression fell slightly, crestfallen.

" _That_ , my dear, is a question you will have to ask the man directly if you wish to know more," he answered in a curt tone, not wanting to divulge information that was not his business to dole out. "Mr. Brennan could use the social interaction and it would benefit him greatly if he were to make another friend amongst the Order besides Miss Tonks and Mr. Lupin, my dear." He smiled at her with hopeful eyes, hoping she would take the hint.

" **NO**! I don't want anything more to _do_ with him, Headmaster!" Norah screamed vehemently, passionately, her pretty features etching into a twisted grimace as the shadow of the wolf darted across her face.

She shirked back into her chair, thinking of the horrible way the two of them had almost come to physical blows with one another. Norah squeezed her eyes tightly shut as her nostrils flared in agitation, and she forced herself to take several deep breaths in and out, wiling her temper to quell to continue speaking to the old man in a calm, rational way. Norah let out a tired sigh.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, forgive me, but I don't think this is a good idea. I—I _can't_ do what you ask of me. I—I can't work alongside him. Get someone _else_! _Anybody_ else!" Norah begged, close to tears.

But she knew the moment the plea left her lips, and by the way that Albus Dumbledore shook his head no, that there was no changing her former Headmaster's mind once it was made up, and even more to the point besides, Greyback would learn of her refusal to do what he was asking and punish her for it.

Either way no matter what way you sliced it, she was going to have to do this, and there was no way out. Norah blinked back the beginnings of briny tears and swallowed the lump in her throat.

"He's a _kind_ man, Miss Jameson. Oliver will _not_ hurt you," Professor Dumbledore emphasized, reaching forward in his chair and across to take hold of Norah's hand, which was shaking badly, clasping his withered hand over the top of Norah's. "He's been alone in this world for far too long, my dear. Just as you have, I suspect," he added, studying her over the rim of his half-moon spectacles with an inquisitive gaze Norah did not know what to make of, not liking the look at all.

Professor Dumbledore breathed out a deep breath and continued.

"In spite of…more recent events over the last few months, I do believe that by me appointing you as the man's partner, you could do Mr. Brennan a great service by giving him a second chance, despite your initial first impressions of one another, and trying to befriend Mr. Brennan. His work amongst the Order is quite solitary and lonely, enough to keep him busy. In fact, I would say that my decision tonight to appoint you as the man's partner is perhaps the greatest hope I could give for the man to break out of his depressive slump he appears to find himself in these days…."

Norah drew in a sharp breath and held it. She furrowed her brows into a frown and rested her head in her hands, her head leaning back against the headrest of her armchair as she allowed herself a moment to think.

_If what Dumbledore says is true, then he really must be lonely here_ , she mused.

Suddenly, she was stricken with an immense wave of guilt towards how she'd reacted to the man. Brennan had only been trying to help her earlier in the bathroom after all and acting the way that she had done to him was utterly monstrous.

Though when she'd dared to lay eyes on the man's face, at the burn mark under his right eye, what she saw most definitely frightened Norah.

However, it hadn't been the mark or the scars that littered their way down the man's neck and, if she had to hazard a guess, extended throughout his body, that scared her necessarily. He was otherwise, save for the burn mark on his face, a handsome enough bloke, she supposed, with strong, chiseled features.

But what had struck terror into her heart was the expression on that man's face.

Shame. Regret. Self-hatred. Heartbreak. All these things and more did she see in Brennan's deep piercing blue eyes. The emotions she saw in her new partner mirrored how Norah felt about herself so poignantly that it drove a figurative Cruciatus Curse through the core of her heart, and for a moment, the young werewolf was even sure it stopped beating.

He reflected on who she was inside. _She_ was ugly. _She_ was grotesque. _She_ was a monster. A _beast_.

Yes, the mere sight of the man sent a chill through her but said chill really had nothing to do whatsoever with Brennan, save for the lustful gleam and look of intrigue in the man's blue eyes.

It was a matter of how his outward appearance reflected all the things she despised about her lycanthropy.

Greyback had made a career practically out of making his adopted daughter feel worthless like she was nothing more than a pebble stuck at the bottom of his black leather boot. Hating aspects of herself came to Norah quite naturally.

But now, Norah had gone and done the same thing to someone else and knowing this did not sit well with the young blonde witch and wolf at all. Acting in such a way, boorish though he was, he'd only been trying to help, was callous.

_Monstrous_ , even. In other words, she knew Dumbledore was right.

Greyback would ensure she followed through with his stupid plan of revenge. Norah knew she was going to have to face Brennan again, regardless of whether she wanted to or not, which she most certainly did not, not after her horrendous display as she'd allowed the wolf within her to take control and her temper surged.

Norah let out a groan and wearily looked towards Dumbledore, desperately seeking the wise old warlock's counsel and advice for how to proceed in amending the mess she'd gotten herself into.

"Professor Dumbledore, _please_ , I beg of you, sir, _please_ ," she begged, well aware of the desperation in her voice. Norah squeezed her eyes tightly shut, letting out a deep, shaking breath. "Is there _really_ no other way? What should I do, sir?"

The man was looking suddenly exasperated. His wrinkled face seemed like it had a strange habit of twitching sporadically as Dumbledore heaved a long, deep sigh.

If the atmosphere before with Brennan had been tense, this was nothing by way of comparison. Norah felt she could try to cut the air with a knife, and she would make nary a scratch.

"Make amends with the man, my dear. Wherever it was that you came from, you are no longer, now that you are an Order member," Dumbledore stated in a firm, unyielding tone. Norah got the distinct impression that his patience had finally run out with her. "What happened? Why were you arguing with Rookwood? The question remains, as to _why_ you are here."

"My…" Norah's voice trailed off as it cracked and broke, unsure how much of her life she could reveal to Dumbledore that he didn't already know for himself. "My…. ah, _father,_ well, he kicked me out of my… _home_ ," she finished lamely, letting out a defeated sigh as she twiddled with her thumbs.

If Professor Dumbledore was skeptical of her answer, he hid it well, leaning forward in his seat.

"And Rookwood?" he pressed Norah gently.

Norah swallowed, as visions of the Death Eater's face flitted in front of her mind. "He…he tried to…o—on the streets, I—I was lost, and…someone…Mr. Lupin, I think, saved me."

Dumbledore's response, however, was not what Norah had expected. Instead of looking irritable or angry with her, his expression turned into one of mild surprise.

After a moment, Norah could swear she saw a hint of humor in the man's blue eyes, but it was so terribly subtle, she couldn't know for sure.

"I see," Albus responded quietly, his gaze still lingering on her, though he did not press her further for an explanation. She was grateful for it.

It seemed an eternity before Dumbledore spoke again, and when he did find his voice, his quiet, reserved tone sounded rather impatient.

"I suggest, Miss Jameson," he began slowly and cautiously, speaking carefully so as to not upset the young blonde werewolf further, "that you attempt to make amends with your new partner tonight. There is a dinner downstairs in the kitchens if you should like to join the others. It will be good for you to meet the rest of the Order members, my dear."

Norah felt a fiery surge of anger intermingled with fear prick at her heartstrings at the very suggestion and the idea of encountering him again.

"I don't want anything further to _do_ with him, Albus!" she protested wildly. "I'm _not_ going down there!" Norah shouted, raising her voice an octave.

"My dear woman!" Dumbledore stood abruptly from his chair, his grey robes billowing around him. His blue eyes were flashing dangerously, darkening, almost cerulean in color the more upset he became over Norah's attitude towards him tonight. There was a strange fire that danced behind the older wizard's steeling pale blue orbs.

Startled and suddenly terrified of the Hogwarts Headmaster and Order founder standing in front of her, Norah stumbled backward in her haste to put as much distance between herself and Dumbledore as was physically possible, shrinking back into her armchair as far as she possibly could, almost succeeding in overturning the chair in the process.

If Augustus Rookwood and Brennan who had unnerved her both in the span of a single evening was terrifying, this was a hundred times worse, yes. Norah had been pinned against a streetlamp, broken her ankle, damaged her wand hand, threatened, interrogated, and now, Norah could add being shouted at to the top of her list for tonight.

What _was_ it about tonight that hated her so much? Why had Greyback sent her here? Why was he so hellbent on getting revenge for Bryce's death? Surely, what happened was an _accident_.

Confused wasn't even half of what the werewolf was feeling right now, and again, Norah felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

"Miss Jameson?" Albus's voice was quiet and soft again, sounding remorseful of his actions.

Norah felt the familiar touch of a hand on her shoulder that caused her entire body to seize up and stiffen and she promptly jerked her shoulder away. She just wanted to be left the hell alone now.

"Miss Jameson, _please_. Forgive me. I do apologize. I should not have lost my temper with you, my dear. That was rude and inconsiderate of me," Dumbledore spoke in a solemn, grave tone.

Norah blinked owlishly at his words, feeling her head whiplash sharply upwards to regard the Hogwarts Headmaster. She wanted to tell the old man that yes, he had been rude and inconsiderate towards her just now.

She was not in the mood to be yelled at simply because she did not understand her surroundings, or why Greyback was making her do this, though she couldn't very well tell him that. She did not understand any of this at all. None of it. She did not deserve to be scolded because she did not think she could face her new partner again.

What was happening to her wasn't her Merlin-damned fault!

She had enough problems in her life without this.

" _Just go away_!" she screamed, attempting to shout it at Albus, raking her fingernails in an animalistic way down the side rests of the chair, ripping at the fabric's material angrily.

However, due to the fact that her throat burned and hollowed and constricted, it sounded hoarse and raspy and did not come off quite as intimidating as Norah hoped. In fact, it sounded downright pitiful, which only made things worse.

" _Leave me alone_!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes as she ducked her head in hot shame and embarrassment, not wanting Albus to see her like this as she currently was at present, an utter mess.

For a long moment, nothing but the deafening sound of silence filled the desolate, dank bedroom.

And then, there came the unmistakable sound of Dumbledore's swiftly retreating footsteps and the gentle closing of the bedroom door behind him. He had honored her request.

Norah was now well and truly alone.


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

**THE** Legilimens as he restlessly paced the hallways of Headquarters knew he'd never have love. It should have been painstakingly obvious after so many years alone that no one would ever _dare_ to love the broken bastard that he knew himself to be, in a romantic way.

And not just because of the burn mark underneath his right eye that twisted and marred an otherwise handsome enough face into something truly grotesque and hideous, but because of the emotional scars as well, that which lay just underneath the surface of his skin, that he didn't want anyone, particularly the young blonde woman upstairs, to see for themselves.

_My new partner_. _Not even a day into it yet, and already, that woman hates me for what I am_ , he thought bitterly, gnashing his teeth together in anger, reflecting how Jameson looked at him.

Ollie took a moment to recollect how afraid the girl had been when she had looked upon his face.

How when he had stared into her cold but pleading eyes, he felt the worst of his anger dissipate and when he'd looked at the celestial-like creature in front of him upstairs, he realized that Jameson believed that to be his design, that he would behave towards her no better than Rookwood had earlier tonight.

And when she had stood in the doorway of the bathroom, staring at Ollie in pure fear, he realized that this was not what he wanted of his new partner in the Order at all.

This strange woman, this werewolf, Norah Jameson, saw him just as he was.

A monster. A demon and it was clear, judging by the fear in those brilliant blue eyes of hers, that she saw nothing but a monster. And Jameson was right, of course.

Ollie Brennan was a man doomed to a life of physical hell on Merlin's green earth, no thanks in part to his father, hoping to live in the light after a life forever spent alone in the shadows, but never quite able to reach that light, no matter how hard he fought for that.

Ollie wanted what normal wizards had every day of their lives and took for granted: a family, a loving partner, maybe one day, kids. What he wanted was a normal want of life and yet, he knew he would never have it.

Normal life was not meant for the son of a well-known Death Eater living in Jack Brennan's shadow.

He heard low voices coming from inside the parlor, recognizing them as Lupin and Tonks's voices, talking in too low a tone for him to make out, though he caught the mention of his name in snippets of their conversation, and his curiosity intrigued, stepped forward through the doorway.

Ollie flinched, his mind still on thoughts of the girl upstairs, recollecting how the blonde had looked at him, that moment before their tempers collectively surged to the surface.

Seeing the flicker of fear that passed through her hauntingly eerie blue-grey orbs when her eyes landed on his burn mark, how he'd sworn she'd recoiled in disgust.

_A monster. That's all I'll ever be is a monstrous wretch_ , Ollie thought bitterly to himself, feeling grateful the only other one among the Order beside himself who was a Legilimens was Snape, and that his former Head of House was not here to dip into his mind and read his thoughts.

If he had been, Snape probably would have told him to get a grip. At best and insulted him at the very worst.

He couldn't quite believe how he had managed to lose his control and fly off the handle when dealing with the young blonde witch's innate stubbornness to refuse his help. It was nonsensical, and not to mention, inexcusable and inappropriate.

Ollie was not soon to forget it, or how the blonde's own temper had risen, seeping its way unbidden to the surface and Jameson had dared to talk back to him, her words piercing his heart with the cold and harsh truth. There was no point in trying to deny it.

He was a man destined to be alone, and he was of half a mind to go to Dumbledore tonight following the dinner and demand that he works best alone. Without _her_.

Dumbledore's ludicrous and quite frankly, ridiculous plan to become her partner and attempt to befriend Jameson was absolutely, utterly insane.

Though he wondered if there was something the Hogwarts Headmaster and Order founder had seen that Ollie hadn't, however, even as his eyes widened in shock and surprise, he was quick to shrug that suggestion off.

He'd stopped trying to change peoples' perceptions of him years ago.

After living an entire life of suffering, people pointing at his burn scar, whispering about him and his entire family behind his back in the streets of Knockturn and Diagon Alley the few times he _did_ happen to go out, he knew people would never change their opinions of him, and it was a fool's hope to hope that this girl, Jameson would do so.

Pained, he let out a growl of frustration and carded his fingers through his short black hair in agitation as he looked towards the doorway of the living room parlor, still hearing the faint voices of Lupin and Tonks coming from within the room.

For a fleeting moment, Ollie wondered what it would be like to have a partner who truly loved you like Dora doted and loved Remus these days.

_To have a partner at all, really…_

Ollie winced, thinking that at some point, he was going to have to face her again.

He doubted he could even work up the nerve to face that witch again, not after the way he'd behaved towards, letting his father's inherited temper get the better of him, as he had upstairs.

Jameson wouldn't want to see him again, not after that despicable display.

He deserved to dig his own grave and bury himself alive if that was how he went around treating women that weren't Tonks.

Ollie knew he was in the wrong for the things he had said to the young blonde in anger, but he had no idea what to do in order to fix his damn mistake.

What Jameson would even _say_ to him if he tried. Ollie shuddered as a cold chill wafted down his spine, thinking what a disaster tonight had been.

As he stepped into the entryway of Sirius's living room parlor to announce his presence to Lupin and Tonks, hoping maybe those two would offer suggestions for how to go about fixing this godforsaken mess he'd gotten himself into, the one thought that seeped into his mind and spread throughout his entire body like a plague, infecting him until Ollie could think of nothing else, was a simple but poignant one.

That Jameson deserved better than him.

* * *

Tonks nervously eyed the entryway from the living room parlor that led out into the hallway with no small amount of trepidation in her eyes.

She bit her lip and glanced towards the doorway, half expecting to see Ollie materialize out of thin air.

Tonks nervously twisted her hands together all the while Lupin sat in his chair by the fire, watching her with no small measure of worry in his light brown eyes, flecked with a hint of gold at the edges of his irises, a side effect of the latest full moon.

"Do you want _me_ to tell him, Dora?" he asked, at last, unable to bear the tension in Sirius's living room parlor any further, hating the suffocating, weighted feeling that was growing worse the longer Tonks restlessly paced in front of the mantlepiece.

"No, I Remus, I can tell him myself but I—I don't think I can do…" Tonks started to say but was immediately interrupted by the sound of none other than Ollie himself, coughing once to clear his throat, lingering in the doorway, his back resting against the wall of the frame, his arms folded across his chest as he was looking thoroughly put off by something.

Tonks cringed, her face crestfallen. Clearly, Ollie's meeting with the young blonde werewolf had not gone so well, judging by the smoldering, fathomless pits in his icy-blue eyes.

"Tell me _what_ , Tonks?" Ollie barked in a rough, coarse sounding voice, his face pale and the burnt flesh of his scar pulled tautly.

Tonks winced, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and staring wearily at her best friend, whose arms remained folded across his chest and the man seemed to be attempting to shrink into his black woolen sweater as much as possible for warmth.

The young witch swallowed nervously past the lump in her throat as her best mate took two swift strides into the living parlor and pointedly took the armchair just across from Remus and stared into the fire as though he were ashamed to look into Tonks's eyes.

She furrowed her brows in a frown. Tonks had sworn she'd heard shouting from the two of them coming from upstairs, but it had been distorted and faint, muffled.

It had been more than enough for her to know that whatever had transpired in that spare bedroom, had _not_ been good if judging by the forlorn and sulking expression on her best mate's face was anything for Tonks and Lupin to go off of and assess the situation.

Desperate to steer the topic of conversation away from the unpleasant topic of announcing his father's death so soon after such a tense first meeting with his new partner, Tonks decided a change in tactic was in order and nervously began to speak, wringing her hands together as she moved to stand in the middle of the front of the mantlepiece, so she could look into Lupin's and Ollie's eyes while she spoke to Ollie.

As much as she didn't want to broach such a sensitive subject with her best friend, given how sour of a mood Brennan looked to be in, Tonks knew it wasn't good for him to keep it bottled up.

The sooner he talked about it (hopefully) the better he would feel if she allowed him to just get it off his chest and out into the open to talk about this.

"I don't know _what_ happened upstairs, Ollie, but I could hear the shouting from down here. We _both_ could," Tonks began slowly and cautiously, choosing her words carefully as she noticed Ollie's head sanguinely and slowly lift to regard her in silence.

She swallowed, feeling a sheen of sweat start to break out on her browbone, but forced herself to continue speaking. Tonks looked towards Remus for confirmation, who somberly nodded.

"What happened? Did she say something to you that upset you? What the bloody hell is going on?" Tonks demanded, almost sounding angry with Ollie.

"You shouldn't have yelled at her, Ollie, and don't bother trying to deny it," Remus spoke up in a condescending tone, sensing how uncomfortable his partner was becoming at broaching such a sensitive topic around the man. "You _owe_ it to your new partner _and_ to the rest of the Order to make amends to the girl. What are you going to do about this to fix it, Mr. Brennan?" he asked, staring at Ollie and fixing the younger man with a rather pointed look. "This _was_ your fault…"

"That's…that's not any of your concern, either one of you! My business with my new partner is my _own_! Stay the hell _out_ of this!" Ollie snapped back angrily by way of retort, before turning his head and ducking his head in shame, staring into the depths of the fire, not wanting Tonks or Lupin to look at him right now the way that he currently was, an utter mess.

"Well, you certainly _seem_ concerned about her, Ollie," Remus replied kindly as he looked at the man who he considered something of a friend, who was beginning to look a lot less composed than before.

Ollie gave him a truly withering look before replying in a clipped and hardened, icy-cold tone.

"I didn't _mean_ for things to…to escalate as they had, but neither of you _saw_ the way that girl _looked_ at me! The witch thinks of me as a _monster_ , Dora, and Remus, so why should I try to pretend _otherwise_? _Why_?" he growled, wallowing in his self-pity.

Tonks, sensing imminent danger upon seeing Ollie's pale blue eyes flash and darken, almost cerulean in color, stepped forward with the intent of intervening and hoping to calm things down.

"Ollie, you _know_ that isn't true, so don't talk about yourself like that," she snapped, feeling her own temper begin to churn as a single fire-seed in the pit of her swooping stomach, though she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths before continuing again. "Do us _both_ a favor, if not for your new partner then do it for _us_ , Ollie. For me, if no one else. I'm your _best_ _friend_ , and you know I only want you to be happy. I think that this new arrangement of Dumbledore's could be a good thing for you, but you have to give her a chance. _Please_?" she begged, biting her bottom lip. "Do it for _me_ , Ol, if not for her."

Stunned, Ollie blinked owlishly in response to Tonks's plea, though before he could part his lips open to speak, to begrudgingly tell his best friend that he would _think_ about it, when in actuality he had no intentions of going anywhere _near_ her again.

Miss Jameson was just going to have to get someone else to be his partner, when there came the sound of someone gruffly clearing their throat in the doorway of the parlor.

All three of them swiveled their heads in the direction of the new arrival, and Ollie felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach upon seeing Professor Dumbledore's grim, somber expression etched upon his lined and weathered features as his arms remained folded across his chest as he scowled, no small measure of disdain in his eyes as he fixated his gaze on Ollie.

"Well, I _do_ hope you are quite _pleased_ with yourself, Oliver Brennan, the girl upstairs is quite distraught, no small part in thanks to your despicable treatment towards her this evening," Professor Dumbledore grumbled irritably from his spot lingering in the doorway, though the Headmaster made no move to approach to join the trio in sitting down inside.

Ollie's own expression quickly turned from pensive to irritable, his sour mood only worsening as a scowl rose upon his features and he winced as a muscle behind his right eyelid gave a little twitch as he pursed his lips into a thin, rigid line as he rose from his chair angrily.

"And _what_ ," the dark-haired former Slytherin growled, his voice reverberating in the small living room parlor as he glowered at Dumbledore, "Merlin pray tell me, Albus, is that I did tonight, besides _save her life_?" he emphasized through gritted teeth, and for a moment, he wondered if Jameson even knew it was him who had saved her life tonight.

Probably not, or she wouldn't have reacted in such a volatile way, he surmised.

Not bothering to wait for a response to his first question, Ollie pressed on, not in the mood for yet another lecture, from Albus, of all people.

"What of the werewolf? What about Jameson?" Ollie barked in a rough, grating voice. "Will she be all right, Albus? How are her wounds? Will she be recovered enough and able to do night duty with me?"

Professor Dumbledore responded in kind by gazing down the bridge of his slender, albeit slightly crooked and hooked nose at Brennan, his blue eyes alight and dim with severe disapproval at the course of action Ollie had taken earlier upstairs by losing his temper.

"Miss Jameson is beside herself with confusion and is in a great deal of fear and emotional turmoil, Mr. Brennan, which, considering the physical state of her injuries, I don't blame her for in the slightest. She is in _no_ condition to be approached by you or any other Order member at the present moment, and as such, the girl will _not_ be joining you all for dinner momentarily in the kitchens," Dumbledore finished explaining, a grim expression on his withered face.

Lupin and Tonks took a cautious moment to shoot one another deep looks of concern for their friend.

They were becoming increasingly wary of the impending argument between the two wizards, and it was this that caused the two partners to remain silent.

It appeared that in their minds, neither wizard was going to give in to the other one.

They'd continue to butt heads like this until one or the other was forced to see the others' reasoning, and both Remus and Dora knew this would only drive a wedge and creature further discourse within the organization itself, if the blonde werewolf and Legilimens could not at least attempt to come to an agreement, and fast, at that…

Tonks watched in dawning horror as Ollie narrowed his burning bright blue eyes at Dumbledore and then proceeded to turn his gaze downward and back towards the roaring fire in the hearth, a glimpse of frustration, resignation, and a hint of guilt in his face.

Lupin, for his part, his sharp eyes noticed the subtle shift in his partner's best friend's countenance, and surprisingly, Remus could not help but feel a small stab of pity for Ollie Brennan, thinking that, given everything that had happened to them tonight while on night watch, he had not asked for this.

It did not appear to him that Ollie had gone out of his way to frighten the young blonde werewolf, yet he'd done so regardless, on accident, and made things worse for himself.

The poor girl upstairs would surely be beside herself with worry, alone in an otherwise strange environment, knowing no one else.

He knew what that was like, and if there was one thing Lupin could relate to and understand, it was how to navigate in a world that did not understand them.

Carefully, Lupin rose from his chair and exchanged a brief nod with Tonks, with Ollie and Dumbledore so engrossed in Albus's findings of the young werewolf upstairs that none of them took notice of Remus managing to slip quietly into the kitchen and out of the parlor. He wasn't exactly sure what was possessing him to do this.

For he knew, the young blonde werewolf upstairs that was close to Ollie's age was extremely dangerous in her present state.

Yet, his curiosity compelled him to meet this werewolf for himself, now that the young witch was awake and conscious, to learn what he could about her.

Besides, Lupin told himself as he bustled about the kitchen, muttering a half-hearted 'excuse me' to Mrs. Weasley as he accidentally jostled her shoulder as Molly was finishing up the last of the meatballs, what sort of host would he be if he did not provide a proper sort of welcome, considering Albus and Ollie certainly had not thought to do this for her.

She could probably do with a nice of hot herbal tea and perhaps something to settle her stomach if the girl's full moon post-transformations were anything like this the few days following after, barely able to keep much food down.

Though by the time the tea was finished, and Mrs. Weasley had helped him locate a tin jar of a plate of biscuits he could take up to the girl and was just about to set the items on a heavy metal breakfast try to take upstairs to see if she were interested in chatting, a muffled tiny squeak came from just outside the doorway.

Both Lupin and Mrs. Weasley looked up, startled at the noise, and Remus felt his facial muscles relax into a soft, welcoming smile as the petite figure of the blonde werewolf stood nervously in the doorway, nervously poking her head through the door with wide, brimming bright blue eyes, seemingly skittish.

Lupin opened his mouth to speak, though his ears perked up at the sound of raised voices, Ollie and Tonks's, coming from the living room parlor just down the hall adjacent to the kitchen.

His already peaky face drained of color, as did the young woman's at the outburst, and without so much as a second thought, he set the tray down that he had prepared for the young woman and darted down the hall, accidentally jostling the blonde witch's shoulder in the process, though she did not seem to take offense with it and followed closely at Remus's heels.

"Wh—what was _that_?" their newest Order member breathed in a hoarse, faint voice, though she pointedly fell silent and let out a gasp as Remus politely shushed her, the werewolf's eyes darkened upon recognizing the voice of Ollie Brennan speaking in raised voices to Tonks.

"Stay here," commanded Remus, flinging out his arm in front of the young blonde witch, effectively preventing her from taking another step forward into the threshold that separated the hallway into the living room parlor, fumbling with a slightly shaking hand for his wand, squeezing his eyes shut, sending a silent prayer to Merlin Above that he'd not have to hex Brennan where he stood.

It sounded as though Tonks had tried—or was _trying_ —to tell Brennan about the letter she had received earlier tonight informing Ollie of his father's passing only hours ago.

Lupin's facial muscles hardened as he steeled himself as he lingered for a moment outside the entryway to the living room.

Carefully, he poked his head through the open doorway. Albus had gone, though Remus thought it odd he couldn't stick around. He typically stayed for dinner following the conclusion of Order meetings, though perhaps urgent business elsewhere had summoned his attention away from Headquarters for the night.

_Just as well_ , Remus thought bitterly to himself, closing his eyes and forcing his breathing to regulate back to normal, praying Ollie wasn't making a scene. _I doubt dinner is going to be a pleasant affair tonight, anyway_ , he thought.

Lupin slowly opened his eyes and stepped inside the living room parlor gingerly, with his wand held out defensively in front of him, ready to protect himself and Tonks in case Brennan's temper got out of hand a second time.

"…there's something you aren't _telling_ me, T! I don't like _riddles_ , just tell me what's going on! What are you _hiding_ from me?!"

Ollie was shouting in a hoarse voice that sounded on the brink of losing its last vestiges of patience with Remus's partner, a fact which set Lupin's blood aflame in his veins, though he forced himself to remain calm.

Tension met Remus upon entering Sirius's parents' living room. Lupin stood dazed at the entryway, unaware of the young blonde werewolf hovering nervously outside, afraid to enter for fear of being on the receiving end of Brennan's temper.

In this instance, Remus decided he didn't blame the witch for how she was acting.

There was nothing he wanted more than to take Dora somewhere, back to his cottage in Wales, and try again with the new girl tomorrow.

One glance back over his shoulder was more than enough to confirm Ollie's new partner was frozen, rooted to her spot, her lips agape as if devoid of words, her already peaky appearance almost gaunt, and there was a look of shock and horror on her pallid features at hearing how raised Ollie and Tonks's argument was becoming, that Remus briefly believed Ollie's temper would drive the injured young woman away.

She would be anywhere _but_ here in a closed space with Brennan, Remus could tell by the way the girl gritted her teeth in anger and pursed her lips.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Lupin swiveled his head back around to try to learn what he could and how to help Tonks diffuse the situation. Remus sighed tiredly and calmly approached the mantelpiece, where Ollie had bolted from his armchair and was restlessly pacing in front of the roaring fire in the hearth like a restless caged beast.

"Ollie, _please_. Hear Tonks out before you decide to do anything," Lupin spoke up in what he hoped was a calm and collected tone, though just underneath the surface, his own wolfish temper was threatening to implode at the way Ollie yelled at her.

Ollie angrily turned his head in the direction of Remus's voice and seethed, grinding his teeth in anger.

"Was I talking to _you_? Not really for _your_ ears now, Remus, is it? Tonks and I are having a discussion that does not pertain to _you_ ," he growled, hissing his words in a low, hushed whisper through his clenched teeth.

Lupin closed his eyes in utter exhaustion, his breath catching in his throat. He willed himself to inhale slowly, fighting for the last vestiges of his calm and patience.

To forget how sometimes Brennan could make him feel uneasy, and it was clear by the pheromones of fear that the blonde werewolf standing just outside the entryway was exhibiting, that Remus could practically smell her pores emitting, that Ollie scared her too, and the two of them had not exactly gotten off on the best foot in terms of their less-than-a-day-old partnership here in the Order, which spelled trouble for everyone.

That was nothing compared to this now. Lupin exasperatedly opened his eyes and pinched at his temples with his thumb and forefinger, just in time for Ollie to eye him suspiciously with a twisted look of irritation upon his hard features, the skin around his burn mark under his right eye pulled rather taut.

Remus thickly swallowed an angry retort and merely inclined his head.

_Don't say anything rash. It wouldn't do to start a fight when tensions are already high. Just cope with this, help Dora calm Ollie down_.

"My apologies, Ollie," Remus offered solemnly and with genuine consideration. "I meant no offense."

"You never _do_ , Lupin," Ollie retorted angrily, and Lupin was quick to catch both the scalding expressions of displeasure from Tonks and from behind him as his peripherals caught sight of the young blonde slowly inching her way into the room, though careful to stay shrouded amongst the shadows to avoid Ollie seeing her, which, he clearly had not.

Lupin froze, stunned at the anger and biting tone in the man who had, up until tonight, been his partner, and yet, Remus could not entirely bring himself to deny the man his say. Ollie was right.

"Ollie…" Tonks gingerly stepped forward, placing a calming hand on her best mate's shoulder, but the older wizard shook her off with a glowering scowl. "Your father is…h—he's dead, Ollie. I'm so sorry…."

There was silence. For a moment, no one spoke, and then Tonks' best friend made a horrible noise like a wounded animal.

" **WHAT DO YOU MEAN**?" Ollie roared, lunging forward towards Tonks, who immediately backtracked and stepped behind Lupin for cover.

"He's dead," Tonks repeated, squeezing her eyes shut, not wanting to look into her friend's blue orbs that were strikingly cold and almost quite inhuman. "I'm _sorry_..."

Oh, Merlin's pants! She hadn't _meant_ to have announced the news in such a blunt way, but the way Brennan was behaving was intimidating her to such a degree that Tonks had no other choice.

Seven hells, Merlin be damned. Ollie wished he could think of something stronger to say, though nothing came to mind as he staggered backward. His breaths were coming short, his chest felt tight, and black spots dancing at the edges of his vision, and for a moment, Ollie thought he might actually faint.

His blood was pounding, roaring in his eardrums until all he could hear was a horrible, fatigued ringing.

Jack was _dead_. But _how_?

Tonks swallowed and stepped forward. "Please don't do anything _stupid_ , Ollie," she begged quietly.

" _Why did you tell me this, Tonks, if not for me to do something about it_?" Ollie bellowed, seizing on tufts of his short black hair, and tugging on them. Anger swept over the man in a blackening tempest, and Ollie let out a roar of frustration that he swore almost made the walls shake as he kicked aside the very chair that he had overturned in ire.

In his blind rage, Ollie almost flung himself at Tonks and Lupin. He picked up the chair he'd overturned and threw it.

Ollie was making a horrible noise that belonged to neither man nor animal, a noise of pain, betrayal, and utter agony at the news. He sank to his knees as the strength left his legs, pounding the floor, wishing he could tear the room apart, wishing he could tear his own heart out of his chest, anything to make the pain stop, make it _stop_.

Lupin was cautiously kneeling beside him, trying to put an arm over the man's shoulders, but Ollie violently ripped away. He flung himself against the wall of the parlor, screaming.

Presently, given his current mood, Tonks and Lupin made no attempt to go anywhere near the man until his rage had run its course. The pair of them stood silent, saying nothing.

At last, when Ollie knelt on his knees, motionless, gasping and heaving for breath raggedly, Tonks gingerly moved closer, speaking slowly.

"Ollie, I—I'm sorry for your loss," she whispered in a trembling voice, her cheeks flushing high with color as she tried to ignore the horrifying stare of the young blonde witch whose life Ollie and Remus had saved was giving them, her hand over her mouth.

When Ollie did not answer her, Tonks let out a sigh of relief. "A funeral will have to be arranged for your father, Ollie, and his body brought back to—"

" _No_." Ollie interrupted her, his voice now flat. He meant to shout it at Tonks and Lupin, but his voice was strangled in his chest. It sounded rather hoarse.

Shattered. Broken. Utterly betrayed, all of those. Tonks's eyes widened in astonishment. She'd always known her best friend had harbored at least some disdain towards his father growing up, but she'd never imagined it was to this degree.

This was pure cold-heartedness, skipping his own funeral!

" _Ollie_!" she couldn't help but exclaim, horrified. "Why won't you!" Tonks swallowed, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing.

But judging by the look on her best mate's face, the man was dead serious, and it showed by the burning look in his bright blue eyes. Her obvious shock only seemed to goad Ollie into responding further.

"My father's… _colleagues_ ," he growled, his blue eyes darkening. Tonks knew he was thinking of the other Death Eater's in Voldemort's ranks, "don't _dare_ oppose me. They know all too damned bloody well how much Father and I _hated_ each other, T. Who knows, perhaps the bastard would be happy to know I plan to stay well the hell away from their kind. Merlin knows Jack was glad I stayed away from him when he was _alive_."

Ollie shakily rose to his feet, throttling his urge to roar like an enraged Hungarian Horntail, though his temper still surged and flared, hotter than any dragon fire could flame.

He gnashed his teeth together and turned on the heels of his black boots with the intent of storming out of Headquarters and Disapparating from this accursed, wretched hovel that Black dared to call his home, when the sight of the young blonde werewolf standing hesitantly in the door rendered him frozen, rooted to his spot.

Ollie's blush seared through his cheeks and for a minute, he thought that his face was utterly on fire. He suddenly felt awkward, demure, and coy, and even going as far as attempting to hide his reddening features behind his slim fingers.

Ollie knew without a shadow of a doubt, without having to use his skills as a natural Legilimens that Tonks, Lupin, and now Jameson, were looking at him, waiting for a reaction. They all thought him a monster.

His blush intensified as his lips parted open to speak to Norah Jameson and address the truly horrific scene the young blonde witch had just walked in on, though the only thing that came out was a strangled attempt at speech.

"I, ah, didn't know that you would be here, J—Jameson," Ollie stammered.

As far as awkward situations go, Ollie thought as he forced himself reluctantly to meet the young blonde's horrified gaze stricken with abject horror and fear, tonight could not _possibly_ get any worse for himself.

Or so Ollie had thought.


	12. Chapter 12

**12**

**IT** was horrible. Norah could not recollect the last time she'd seen an uproar of this caliber, the most recent example she could force herself to think of was but a few precious hours ago when Father had trashed the Malfoys' study after learning that her uncle, his brother, Bryce, was dead.

The argument between the two partners and Brennan was heated, insults being flung about by her partner in his rage without so much as a care in the world.

And the _shouting_. Merlin's Beard, the _shouting_. A quick glance to her immediate left at the other werewolf in the Order, Remus Lupin, she thought his name was if her memory of her conversation with Dumbledore served her correctly, was bothered by it too, as their wolfish hearing was still coming down off the latest full moon. He flinched in discomfort.

The sheer volume of Brennan's hoarse, raised voice as he and the pink-haired witch continued to argue amongst one another, was enough to give Norah the beginnings of a splitting headache that threatened to crack her skull wide the hell open.

The only thing Brennan hadn't resorted to yet was violence of the physical kind, either the magical way or the Muggle way against the two currently trying to calm him down over the devastating news of the man's father's death, or devasting in _his_ mind, at least, though Norah swore she saw no hint of compassion or sadness in the man's crystalline eyes.

 _Enough. This has gone on bloody far enough_.

Merlin's left buttock, but she was going to _hate_ this. Norah closed her eyes tightly for a moment, taking a long, deep breath to calm down her temper.

" _Stop_!" Norah protested, bounding forward, and allowing herself to forsake her natural timidity and shyness towards her new partner for the time being, for they would do her no good here.

Norah cringed as she placed her hands squarely against Brennan's chest in the attempt to separate the volatile man from the other two, Lupin and Tonks before things escalated and got wildly out of control and wands were drawn, and then she'd really be in trouble.

" _Stop_!" she screamed, cringing at how weak her voice sounded, but still desperate to make her voice heard. "This—this is _enough_ , Brennan!" she shouted.

Norah knew from the instant her words left her mouth that they had hit their mark, the moment Brennan opened his mouth to argue, but faltered in his movements when she hesitated, and put a small, pale hand on his shoulder and gripped him tightly.

She flinched, but only because Brennan did so the moment that she set a hand on him, and it was then that the dawning realization struck Norah Jameson immediately, as though she had been hit squarely in the chest with a well-aimed, solid Knockback Jinx.

He thought she was going to hurt him. His body stiffened and Norah's wolfish hearing perked up at the sound of hearing the dark-haired man let out a barely audible hiss, though she and Lupin heard it.

Ollie staggered backward, jerking his shoulder away from Norah's hand as though the very feel of her hand upon his had burned his skin hotter than an Incendio Charm.

For a moment, she felt insulted. His cold gaze was fixed upon her, completely impassive and unreadable. Norah huffed in agitation. She recognized this look.

He was a Legilimens and skilled in Occlumency, just like Norah was.

Seeing him up close and personal like this, now that there was slightly better lighting down here in the living room parlor than there had been in the upstairs bedroom she'd woken and found herself in, Brennan seemed a more solid figure than before.

Except for his listless, cold blue eyes. Those hadn't changed, though Norah swore she caught the flickering of something unreadable dart in his eyes.

His cold gaze soon shifted, however, towards the other werewolf and his mate, who had cautiously stepped forward, as if they meant to protect Norah.

Brennan's expression turned positively murderous as he began to stalk towards the pink-haired witch, though he faltered in indecision when Norah steeled herself and planted her feet firmly between them. If he wanted to get to that woman, then her new partner would have to go through _her_.

Norah could not immediately explain it, but she could tell the witch and her mate meant her no harm, judging by the sympathetic glances Lupin and the other woman were shooting her.

She silently shot the pair of them what she hoped was a grateful look with her eyes, trying to thank them for attempting to intervene on her behalf, but that it wasn't necessary.

They must have gotten the message of whatever silent meaning Brennan was trying to convey. Perhaps the man was using his skill of impossible telepathy as a Legilimens to communicate with the pair.

For Lupin shot Brennan an admonishing look, though he placed one arm around the woman's shoulder and began to steer her in the direction of the doorway, heading towards the kitchens, though not before pausing and casting one last glance towards Norah, a strangely sympathetic look in his eyes.

Norah dug into the man's mind and was utterly stupefied to learn _Brennan_ was solely responsible for saving her life tonight. Lupin offered a slight incline of his head, confirming her worst suspicions and fears. She felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach, but before she could open her mouth to speak, Lupin interjected, preventing her from speaking.

"Miss, ah… forgive me, but I don't know your name?" he questioned, his quiet tone polite but apologetic.

Something Norah could appreciate considering the tense atmosphere of this room.

"Jameson, Mr. Lupin. Norah Jameson," Norah announced in what she hoped was a kind voice, though she flinched at hearing the faltering dip and crack in her tones, paying Brennan behind her no mind, and keeping her gaze fixated on Remus Lupin.

"Please. Call me Remus, Miss Jameson. I prefer it. May I call you Norah?" Lupin asked courteously, offering the young blonde witch a kind smile when she returned the gesture and inclined her head in agreement.

She swore she felt Brennan bristle behind her, but she paid the man no mind at all.

Lupin furrowed his brows in a slight frown, having sensed the man's shift in countenance, but, like Norah, chose not to address it, sensing Jameson wanted to deal with Brennan's abhorrent behavior and hash things out with her new partner on her terms. A trait that he respected and admired in her.

Anyone in Lupin's mind who could hold their own against the likes of Augustus Rookwood would surely prove an invaluable member and asset to the Order, and Remus strived to do what he could to make Norah feel welcome, hoping Tonks would, too.

"If you are feeling up to it, following your…conversation," he answered in a clipped tone, the shift in his voice directed towards Brennan as he fixed the man with a rather pointed glower, "Mrs. Weasley is hosting a dinner in the kitchens. My partner, Tonks and I," Here, he shot the pink-haired witch standing beside him an affectionate smile, "would love for you to come and meet the others."

"Th—thank you, Mr. Lupin," Norah stammered, swallowing down hard past the lump in her throat.

The pink-haired witch took a cautious half-step forward towards Norah and ducked underneath Lupin's arm and shot Norah a kind smile that the young blonde werewolf didn't know what to make of.

"We're glad to have you in the Order, Miss Jameson. Merlin knows I could use a woman my own age to converse with around here," the woman called Tonks muttered politely in a low voice. "The first few weeks when you're new are the toughest, so if there's anything you need from either me or Remus," she jerked her head towards Lupin in an affectionate way, "please don't hesitate to ask and we'll do what we can to ensure you're comfortable here. And Ollie will too, _won't_ you, Ollie? She's _your_ partner, after all!" Tonks added in a cold tone, shooting Brennan a truly venomous glower that Norah did not bother to turn around to gauge the man's reaction, but if she had to hazard a guess, he was probably not taking this criticism well at _all_.

"Yes," Brennan answered in a hardened tone, the edges around his voice rough, which caused the fine hairs on the back of Norah's neck to stand upright, as his tone did not suggest he particularly wanted to.

Norah stiffened and bit down on her bottom lip. She was not at all looking forward to the conversation she was about to have with the man, but if it was going to be the only way to mend things and get the man to calm the hell down, then so be it.

Tonks continued, either oblivious to Norah's growing discomfort or, she was choosing to ignore it. Probably the latter if the werewolf had to guess.

"If there's anything you need, Jameson, anything you want to talk about, you can always come to me. I like to hope that in time, you and I can be friends. I want to support you, given your…special circumstances," Tonks murmured in a dark, somber voice, her grey eyes clouding over momentarily, and Norah could tell the slightly older witch was thinking of how Rookwood had attacked her earlier tonight, and perhaps of her lycanthropy.

Norah had to figure most if not all of the Order members would know of her condition by the end of tonight, considering how fantastically awful this bloody night had gone so far.

"Oh," Norah squeaked, unable to form an adequate response right off the bat. She simply gaped at Lupin and Tonks, who stood in the doorway of the living room parlor looking at the young blonde witch with such a sympathetic and kind expression, their eyes jointly filled with unusual tenderness.

In truth, she'd not expected anyone in the Order of the Phoenix to be so kind, not after hearing rumors of what some of the members did to Greyback's people.

But Norah felt moved by Tonks's generosity at perhaps becoming like a friend to her.

Impoliteness, brazenness, rudeness, all of the character qualities that Brennan stupidly possessed within his personality, and she would deal with in a moment, these were things that she could easily handle, growing up with Greyback for a father.

However, in her current state of unease and general vulnerability, considering the hell of a night she'd had, the kindness that came from these two standing in front of her felt like a stab to her heart. Norah could feel her eyes starting to tear up.

"Um, thank you, Tonks a—and Lupin, for your kind words and concern for my well-being. I'll take them into consideration, but I'm sure I'll be _fine_ ," she answered, perhaps a little too coldly than she really would have liked, saving the worst of her hostility she was about to unleash on Brennan in a moment once the two of them were alone, before ducking her head so neither of them would start to see her tears.

Lupin nodded his agreement, gripping onto Tonks's shoulder, sensing Jameson's growing discomfort and recognizing the two new partners needed a moment alone to hash things out.

"Of course, Miss Jameson," he answered warmly. "Well, if you get hungry, Molly always makes plenty of extra food. Tonks and I will save you a plate if you're interested," he offered kindly, not blaming Norah at all for not knowing how to react to their offer or seeming to give off a rather cold response and hostile vibe in response, though Remus attributed that to Ollie's behavior towards her, and in general, for right now.

"Thank you, I—I would like that very much. We'll be along shortly," she muttered, still actively averting Lupin and Tonks' gazes as she struggled to reign in control of her tears, refusing to let Brennan see it.

She was not about to give her new partner the satisfaction of seeing just how much he was getting underneath her skin and making it utterly _crawl_.

"Of course," replied Lupin warmly, dipping his head towards Norah as a show of friendship and respect. "Whenever you two are ready, we'll save you a plate," he said quietly, giving Tonks's shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze, casting one more slightly distrustful and admonishing glance towards Ollie over his shoulder as he steered Tonks out of the living room parlor and allowing the man and his new partner a moment to hash things out in private.

Norah watched Lupin and Tonks leave, not bothering to turn around until she watched their figures round the corner of the entryway of the parlor, and their footsteps had faded to nothingness as the pair made their way towards the kitchens, which sounded like it was bustling with activity.

Norah slowly swiveled her head back around to regard her new partner, feeling a muscle move in her jaw as she fought against the desire to say something to Brennan that would really put his current behavior to shame and shut the man up for the night.

For a moment, she wished that she could, but considering this was her first night as an Order member, Norah did not want to cause any more harm than she already had, and for that, her temper would remain spent, and she would not cry in front of him.

She inhaled a deep, shaking breath and began, nervously fidgeting with her fingers, weaving her knuckles in between her white-boned fingers.

"Brennan," she began, her tone firm but respectable enough (she hoped it was, at least!) and Norah forced herself to fight down the warbling crack and kept her voice strong but contrite. "I think I owe you an apology for…for earlier," she stammered. "I endangered your lives _and_ Mr. Lupin's tonight when you…saved me from Augustus Rookwood," she whisper hissed through gritted teeth, turning her head sharply to the left and squeezing her eyes shut to avoid looking the man in his narrowed blue eyes.

"That's an understatement, Jameson," he barked hoarsely. He proceeded to glower at her with icy blue eyes currently only showing one emotion: pure rage.

Anger began to bubble to the surface once more, bristling within Norah's chest as a fiery heat at the man's careless and heartless words, but she tampered it back down, refusing to let Brennan see.

Norah swallowed thickly and continued her piece, even though a dozen or so angry retorts flitted to the forefront of her mind, just begging to spat from her tongue in poisonous venom, but she needed to be the bigger person and apologize to the man, knowing full well Dumbledore was right.

The only way their partnership was going to work was if they both made amends, and Jameson had correctly assumed that it wasn't going to be Brennan to take the initiative and make the first step towards reconciliation, or at the very least, an understanding.

"Whatever," she growled, baring her sharpened canines. "I'm trying to apologize to you, the least you can do is hear me out and _listen_ for a change, if you're even capable of that, Brennan," Norah hissed, hardening her own tone until it was clipped and curt in response to Brennan's aggression. "I _do_ owe you an apology, despite the way you behaved towards me tonight, and if you ask me, you should apologize to me _first_."

Watching the man's already pale face lighten a shade as his lips parted open in shock and outrage was almost worth it and gave Norah a sick satisfying feeling in the pit of her churning stomach, though she continued speaking before he could interject.

"I endangered your life _and_ Lupin's tonight as well. I was self-centered and selfish in thinking I could take on a Death Eater without any help. I'm _sorry_. I _am_."

Ollie froze, wondering if he'd heard the young blonde werewolf correctly. He lifted his gaze slightly to better look Jameson in the eyes, thinking his new partner certainly looked apologetic. Not just her expression, but everything else as a whole as well.

The bruised brow, her bandaged hand, her ankle, all of them combined together painted a truly pitiable picture of a young witch and werewolf who did not understand the way the rest of the world worked and had learned a lesson the hard way around.

Ollie thought it truly saddening that Jameson was forced to learn it this way. And painful.

Though, Jameson wouldn't soon forget it and that, to his mind, was a comfort, at the very least.

Ollie squeezed his eyes tightly shut, letting out a shaking breath. It made him so utterly furious to think what Rookwood would have done to the woman, hurting her, torturing her, and with absolutely no other reason for it other than to see the poor girl suffer.

He slowly opened his eyes, not wanting to allow his anger to get the better of him, as it had several times tonight, though he felt it was futile. In fact, he was quite furious.

Not necessarily at Jameson, though the prickly young blonde had already proven she had a tendency to get under his skin, but at Rookwood who'd needlessly hurt her.

He wanted to reach out his hand and offer some form of physical comfort to his new partner to the terrified, trembling creature before him, but in no way did he want to scare the werewolf further, so Ollie maintained a respectful distance and spoke softly, careful to keep his voice low and quite even.

Nevertheless, his meditation was not enough to keep the anger bottled within him from seeping unbidden to the surface. Ollie glared at Brennan.

"If you _ever_ ," he growled angrily, jabbing a finger at her uninjured shoulder, " _ever_ do something so _stupid_ like that again, next time, the only help you'll get is from _Merlin_ , Jameson! Not me! What were you _thinking_ , wandering around the street at night?"

"It won't happen again, Brennan," Norah insisted desperately, not breaking eye contact for even a moment, though something unreadable, an emotion Ollie could not quite name, flickered through her pale grey-blue orbs, rendering him captive for a moment. "I swear it. I can give you my word."

Norah drew in a sharp breath that pained her bruised lungs and waited for the man to speak, hoping that he would, at a minimum, accept her apology. She heard the man let out a defeated sigh.

"See to it that you _don't_. I don't want to have to save you for a second time. You've already proven to be more trouble than you're worth at all," he growled in a rough, grating voice. Norah resisted the urge to growl in frustration, though she supposed that was as close to an acceptance of her apology as she was going to get. "You've done _more_ than enough, Miss Jameson. Let me see your hand," he snapped, lowering his gaze where his piercing blue eyes settled on her bandages, that had started to come unraveled and fresh blood seeped through.

Norah shirked back and recoiled as the man advanced on her, like a panther stalking its prey.

"No, it's—th—that's not necessary. Besides, it's not as bad as it looks," Norah offhandedly. "You—"

Though before she could turn on the heel of her black boot to make a beeline for the upstairs spare bedroom to change her bandages before coming back downstairs to the kitchens to join the rest of the Order for the supper in the kitchens, she felt a strong, slightly calloused hand grip her shoulder.

Norah froze, her body instinctively stiffening and recoiling at the gesture, though she made no move to pull away.

She'd had enough of strange wizards touching her for one night, thank you very much! Norah pivoted at the waist and stood there in shock and surprise, not sure how to place the current expression Brennan wore. It was a mixture of concern, fear, and something else she could not place.

"Brennan, let _go_ of my arm," Norah growled, suddenly feeling breathless for some strange reason.

The young witch was corrupted with fear towards the sudden shift in the volatile man's temperament, how he'd been screaming and yelling at Lupin and Tonks over the news of his father's death not even five minutes ago, and now was tending to her wrist delicately, almost like a friend or lover would help.

Though his movements, Norah could still smell the hesitation that reeked out from the man's gestures, the little furtive glances that he shot Norah.

Ollie ignored her command, not relinquishing his hold on the small appendage as he deftly began to unravel the bandage and examine her wrist tenderly.

Her new partner gazed down at it as if he found it to be the most interesting thing in the whole world. He even took a second to run his thumb over a scar just above her first knuckle.

"Does it hurt?" he asked in a much more subdued voice than before, which Norah thought strange, but had no time to question it. "Rookwood, that man, he almost _killed_ you," he growled, turning his gaze away as he waved his wand and conjured a roll of fresh gauze, and began to re-wrap her bindings around Norah's hand.

Norah hesitated and looked down at her wrist for a moment, considering it.

"I don't think it's broken, but it _does_ hurt, especially when I move it around. I thought earlier Rookwood might have broken it, but it looks better than it feels, Brennan, so let it alone. I think my shoulder might be dislocated though," Norah added with an afterthought, as though that little injury the St. Mungo's Healer had missed and overlooked was information barely worth mentioning.

Ollie blinked owlishly at this strange young creature, wondering how she could be so calm and blasé about an injury that was causing Jameson pain.

It was disconcerting to him, troubling how Jameson's level of concern for her own well-being was so rapidly deleting, like she didn't even care.

"You're lucky he didn't _kill_ you, Jameson!" he snarled through gritted teeth, his temper swelling to the surface as for some reason, visions of Jack's face, Father, flitted through the forefront of his mind. "How the hell can you be so _calm_ about this?!"

His head snapped up so fast that Norah had to move her head back to avoid connecting with his.

He did not shout, but Brennan seemed so shocked, so confused by the casual manner of her response. Norah stared at him, hardly daring to believe her wolfish hearing.

So, that was the root of his aggression. Brennan was… _worried_ about her, then?

Norah sighed softly, not sure she was ready to talk about it, and in truth, Norah really wasn't at all. She had been terrified under that streetlight, the event as a whole had been terrifying. It seemed like it had taken an eternity for Lupin to reach her earlier.

"Well, he probably _would_ have, if given more time. I was lucky Lupin showed up when he did," Norah sighed, not noticing the darkening, cerulean hue in the man's bright blue eyes, burning with a fathomless, smoldering rage at the mention of Remus. "I think I'm more or less okay, just tired."

Ollie stared at the young blonde witch and wolf, and couldn't help but shake his head incredulously, in disbelief of the way his new partner was behaving.

Not only did it bother him for reasons he could not explain that she did not know Ollie had been alongside Remus in the rescue tonight, but the way she was talking disturbed him greatly.

Did Jameson even realize what Rookwood would have _done_ to her? What the Death Eater would have done to the wolf if Remus and Ollie had Apparated on sight when they did?

Death Eaters killed indiscriminately, but Lord Voldemort's followers were known to keep their victims alive and torture them when it was convenient for them, as his father had once done.

A man like Rookwood would have delighted in keeping a tiny werewolf, and a female at that, who was barely over 5'4, and that with those black-heeled boots she was currently wearing, as his plaything for weeks or even months on end, before finally killing her.

Jameson was lucky the creep had less than ten minutes alone with her to do whatever he wanted.

She had no _idea_ what Voldemort's followers were capable of. Ollie bit down on his bottom lip, wanting to yell at the young woman, to tell her never to do something so stupid and foolish like wander the streets alone after dark, especially without him by her side as her newly appointed partner in the Order.

Augustus Rookwood had certainly been rough and cruel with Jameson, but it was nothing to what could have been.

The werewolf needed to understand that, but perhaps that conversation would be better saved for after dinner.

Right now, Jameson was looking utterly apologetic and miserable, not to mention quite ill and exhausted, and a shouting match, a lecture from him wasn't what she needed.

"We should pop your arm back into place, Jameson," Ollie suggested, moving with a careful tenderness so as to not startle the young witch, putting his fingers on Jameson's right arm. Anger surged within him, but not at Jameson for this one.

How could the St. Mungo's Healer possibly have overlooked and missed this injury? Couldn't the wizard tell his new partner was in considerable pain?

He watched, pained, as Jameson flinched at a jab of pain that seemed to shoot up her arm from her dislocated shoulder.

Norah bit down on her bottom lip to stifle the pained scream that threatened to escape from her lips, not wanting to draw the attention of the rest of the Order currently settling down to dinner in the kitchens.

She sniffed, breathing fast as she begged for help from him.

"Fix it, Brennan," she snarled in a hoarse voice.

"James—" he started to say, but she cut him off.

"Just bloody pop it back into place and _fix_ it!" she snarled, in tears, her pain dominating reason. When Brennan's mood darkened, only then did Norah swallow down the lump in her throat and tamper down her own temper. "I—I've been through _worse_ , Brennan. Just fix it for me. Pop it back. _Now_."

Brennan hesitated, his bright blue eyes brimming with unshed moisture, anxiety.

Norah sensed the man's reluctance and blew out a deep, shaking breath.

"You've done this before?" She whispered.

"No," he answered in a casual manner that sent a chill down Norah's spine at the way that he said it.

He lifted his gaze and watched a lump bob down her slim neck and a brief flicker of fear in her eyes.

"It's…easy, Brennan…j—just pop it— **SLOWLY**!" Norah, without even thinking, instinctively reached for fistfuls of the man's black woolen sweater as she felt the man's strong hands grab onto her dislocated shoulder and heard the crunch of bone forced to pop back into place, sending her body in an explosive, mortifying pain that she did not know how to silence.

And Ollie heard the loudest, most ear-piercing shriek that made the noise she'd given off earlier when captured by Rookwood sound like music to his ears.

He dug her head beneath his jaw and suffered his new partner's muffled screams as she clawed on his arms, digging through the thick material of his sweater, leaving angry red ribbons on his firm skin.

If not for her broken ankle, Ollie guessed Jameson would have already kicked him to the next city over. When her fit subsided and the convulsions died to mere sniffles, Ollie exhaled a sigh of relief.

He peeked at his partner's face and was met by her tear-filled blue eyes and a deep, scowling frown.

"Th—thank you," she gasped out in a half-choked sob. "Th—that wasn't so bad," she coughed.

"Wimp," Ollie snapped as he swept the woman's bangs out of her eyes and off of her small forehead. "Some tantrum you have, Jameson. So… _wolfish_."

"No, I-I…wasn't ready," she protested faintly.

Ollie narrowed his blue eyes in a teasing, somewhat playful manner. Seeing no room for excuses, Norah let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle despite her furrowed brows as she glowered at him.

"Really. I _wasn't_." She gave a weak punch at his chest and shoved him backward, turning on the heels of her black boots to head towards the kitchen.

It was a strangely warm, tingling feeling Jameson left Ollie with.

He was warm and it felt rather good.

Norah paused, a hand on the doorway to steady herself as she limped on her newly-mended ankle to make for the kitchens to join the rest of the Order.

"Brennan, just for the record, I don't _usually_ react like that," Norah snapped in a hardened voice.

"Mmm," he grunted wordlessly by way of response to her statement, repressing the urge, and finding it a bit difficult not to roll his eyes at that.

"You should have _told_ me," Norah accused hotly.

Ollie shrugged. "It won't be long, Jameson, and you'll be good as new," he said, forcing a smile, though it did not reach his blue eyes.

Though he was loathed to admit, and least of all to Jameson herself, he did not like to see the young witch in pain and hurt. However, he was glad at least that, despite their rocky beginning, she seemed at least willing to make amends and try to start over.

It did worry him, however, that the werewolf did not see the gravity of her situation.

She was behaving as though she'd accidentally fallen down or something, not narrowly escaped weeks, possibly months of brutal, endless torture followed by a cruel and painful death at the end of all of it at Rookwood's hands.

Ollie was torn between feeling glad that Jameson seemed less affected by the situation that she probably should have and feeling upset that Norah Jameson did not understand how dangerous the world around her was.

Though the werewolf had seemed extraordinarily unaffected by tonight, and she now seemed to have all but forgotten her previous anguish towards him.

Although forgetting her pain would be nice for the werewolf mentally, it would not help Jameson to avoid these types of situations in the future, especially not as an Order member.

A healthy fear of Lord Voldemort's followers was a good thing, yes. Perhaps Norah Jameson's strange, prickly behavior and lack of concern was attributed to a simple case of still being in shock over the turn of tonight's events.

Ollie forced himself to shove all of those unhelpful thoughts out of his mind for the time being. He could worry and fret over that stuff later. For now, he needed to concentrate on getting through this dinner in one damned Merlin bloody piece, and for him and Jameson not to kill each other, and he grunted again as he followed her out.

His one thought that plagued his mind was a simple but poignant one, and as he followed Jameson into the kitchens, not bothering to stifle the small, crooked grin that snaked its way onto his face as he heard Mrs. Weasley shout at Mr. Weasley for something, Ollie could have sworn Jameson looked back at her.

And he could have sworn she smiled at him.

 _What a night_ , he thought to himself.

Unbeknownst to the Legilimens, the flustered young werewolf as she entered into the kitchens to meet the rest of the Order was having the exact same thought.

_What a night…_


	13. Chapter 13

**13**

**THE** kitchen was quite a bustle of activity as Norah gingerly stepped inside, with most of the other Order members already sitting at their respective places at the long rectangular wooden table.

Given the immense pain in the young werewolf's side and the burning pain in her ankle, it felt like such a short walk as she sized up the only two chairs left at the very end, next to him.

Norah's blood bristled in her veins as her wolfish sight landed upon Mundungus Fletcher, the witless git, who'd given her such awful directions on how to get to the Headquarters.

His face blanched immediately upon meeting the werewolf's piercing, hardened stare, and he immediately looked away. Norah looked to the man's left, seeing the only other chair available was to Remus's left, and Tonks's right, sitting in the middle, which meant Brennan couldn't sit by her.

Not that the man was looking like he _wanted_ to, she thought in a somewhat mean fashion as the man's pale features quickly flushed as he sneered. Brennan quickly took the seat on the opposite end of the table, just across from where Norah sat, though the man pointedly averted his cold gaze.

Norah resisted the urge to huff in frustration. She hoped Brennan would have calmed down a bit from his tirade earlier, but that didn't seem to be the case, and a ginger-haired woman, Molly, she thought someone called her, interrupted her musings of her new partner here in the Order.

"Help yourself to the potatoes, dear, and pass them on," came the matronly, older witch's kind voice, and suddenly, Norah found herself holding a bowl of buttered garlic mashed potatoes. She blushed and took the bowl, mumbling a half-hearted thanks under her breath as she worked quickly to dish up her potatoes without comment.

To her left, Lupin held the platter of meatballs while Tonks speared a couple and put them on his plate, and then turned and did the same for her.

Norah silently tried to thank the witch her age with her eyes. Tonks returned the look with one of her own that suggested Jameson did not have to.

"…A bit chilly, huh?" Norah chuckled nervously, attempting small talk with Lupin and Tonks as the rest of the Order helped themselves to food. She noticed Brennan out of the corner of her vision, watching her, begrudgingly interested.

"We've noticed," Lupin answered kindly, though he was seemingly interested in continuing his conversation with Tonks, and Norah fell silent.

Norah swallowed thickly down past the lump in her throat, not wanting to spare the man so much as a second glance for the rest of the night if she could help it.

Suddenly, the room felt like it darkened as Professor Dumbledore reappeared, an unusually stern expression upon his withered face. He hesitated, lingering at the head of the table.

Norah eyed the aging old warlock for the first time since earlier when she'd almost argued with the man.

What was _he_ doing back here, then?! _Oh, my Merlin, he knows_ , she thought breathlessly, her blue eyes widening and going round with shock, taking note of how Albus Dumbledore stiffened a bit before taking a seat.

It did not escape the young blonde werewolf's attention how, when everyone settled down once their plates were prepared, how Brennan's blue eyes that still burned bright with anger towards her seemed cracked and red-rimmed at the irises.

Her gaze followed his movements curiously, still hurt, of course, but nevertheless, intrigued. Norah began to notice that all of them, Brennan, Lupin, Tonks, and even herself if she were to look in a mirror, suffered from red eyes.

Yes, there was definitely tension in the air and drama brewing between the four of them tonight.

The young blonde witch let out a tired sigh and glanced down at her plate, unable to remember when she'd been in the presence of so much delicious-looking food.

Her plate was utterly packed. Meatballs, mashed potatoes with butter and garlic, dinner rolls, green bean casserole, stuffing, the works. Father back home never fed her this much of a smorgasbord all at one time.

Norah rolled her eyes to herself as she shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth, not realizing that the Order of the Phoenix, whenever they convened as a group, often gave thanks to Merlin and His Light for the meal.

Dumbledore's dark little chuckle that escaped his lips gave it away, startling the blonde wolf as Jameson looked up, with a guilty blush flushing her pale cheeks.

"My, someone's hungry. If you don't mind, Miss Jameson, we often give thanks to Merlin before we sit down to eat as a group. Perhaps _you_ would like to start?" Dumbledore questioned Norah kindly.

Ollie couldn't help but roll his eyes and scoff, though no one else heard it save for Remus and Norah, both werewolves shooting the dark-haired Legilimens a rather scathing glower for his unnecessary noise and hostile behavior towards her.

"O—oh," she stammered, not sure what else to say in that regard, suddenly feeling her blush intensify as all of the heads currently seated at the kitchen table swiveled to look in her general direction. To say it made her feel uneasy was an understatement. "W—well, I—if you insist, Albus."

Norah felt her cheeks flush a dark beet red and part of her felt like bursting into tears from the sheer awkwardness of her situation this evening.

Ollie huffed in disgust and folded his arms across his chest. What a Merlin-damned insult.

" _Uncouth witch_ ," he muttered to himself darkly. Both Lupin and Tonks's heads whiplashed sharply upward from their places at the other side of the table and shot their mutual friend a truly withering glower for his unnecessary comment.

Norah, thanks to her sharp, wolfish hearing, had heard every word uttered in malice and a pained expression flitted across her ashen features as she drew in a shaky breath, trying to ignore how hurt his comment made her feel.

"Merlin…we, ah, thank you for this meal, and I myself would like to thank you for bringing me these two gentlemen sitting by my side tonight, for if it weren't for them, I'd surely be dead."

Here, she glanced to her right and saw a light blush speckle along Remus's cheeks, while Ollie's flashing blue eyes shifted, darkening in color, and narrowing in a look of anger.

Norah swallowed, trying to ignore her partner's piercing glacier stare currently devoid of warmth.

She forced a strained smile onto her face as she desperately looked towards Dumbledore for a distraction.

"And I would further ask that you bless Professor Dumbledore, for the man has granted me an opportunity not usually given to a…" _Oh, Merlin here it goes_ , "to a werewolf-like myself," she muttered darkly under her breath, lowering her voice. She figured it was better to get her condition out into the open and let them all get riled up all at once, rather than having to explain separately to everyone in private just what the hell was wrong with her.

Norah drew in a breath and waited for the entire table to erupt into an enraged outburst.

But it didn't come. They merely looked at her, sitting, waiting, acting like polite adults while they patiently waited for Norah to continue the prayer. Norah's cobalt blue eyes widened a moment before her blush intensified. She paused, unsure whether or not to continue as she accidentally locked her gaze with Brennan yet a third time.

Her heart jumped against its cage and her cheeks managed to burn even hotter than before. She could not back down, and Norah narrowed her own piercing eyes of blue in suspicion at him, at how he stared.

"I am grateful to Dumbledore for this opportunity, and I will do my hardest to not disappoint the organization. I hope that you all will accept me into your group as one of your own, and may you, Merlin, grace us with your light, and see fit to bless everyone here at this table. Thank you."

She huffed and folded her arms across her chest, feeling like throwing her fully-loaded plate of food at the blue-eyed handsome bastard giving her a look of daggers.

Brennan grumbled something inaudible under his breath and shoveled a bite of food in his mouth. Tonks, curious, slowly looked over between her best mate and their new recruit out of interest.

Things were beginning to add up…

Professor Dumbledore slowly cleared his throat. "As I am sure you are all aware, before we get too comfortable digging into this truly _delectable_ meal that Molly has prepared for us tonight, there has been increasing amounts of Death Eater activity, and it has been suspected that Fenrir Greyback is in the area, as a few Muggles were viciously attacked earlier this evening, their bodies found in an alley, their throats ripped out."

Norah, who had been about to take a bite of her food, promptly lowered her fork, her blue eyes wide and round with shock, and a sheen of sweat along her browbone.

She hoped no one at the table noticed her strange shift in countenance at the mention of her father's name.

The quiet, somber mood of the news delivered startled the blonde so badly, she nearly choked on her spoon as her bite of meatball went down the wrong windpipe, and it took Remus Lupin giving her a few good hits on her back for it to dislodge. An eyebrow raised in confusion as Lupin looked at her.

"Are you all right, Norah?" he asked.

"Fine," she blurted out hoarsely, reaching for her wine goblet to down a swig. "Just choked a bit. Was there…was there something you needed, Professor Dumbledore? Perhaps ah, Remus, and I could go check it out for you. If it's a werewolf attack, the signs will be obvious," Norah quickly spoke up in a raised voice, wanting to steer the conversation away from herself, praying her eyes did not betray her fears.

"That is quite kind of you, my dear," Albus began, peering at Norah over the rim of his silver, half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes twinkling. "However, considering Mr. Lupin seated next to you is Miss Tonks's partner and _not_ yours, I would advise you and Mr. Brennan going first thing in the morning."

" _What_?!" Ollie exclaimed violently.

Norah's eyes widened in shock as Ollie, who startled a bit, looked up to see her panicked expression, and his face paled in anger. Norah let out a sardonic little laugh despite her best efforts to contain her honesty about the revolt she currently nursed against her new partner, shaking her head.

This situation was an utter _joke_. Now she was well and truly in a bind. She was now, for better or worse, stuck with him on a mission. _Alone_. Just the two of them, and…and…

Greyback's words to her earlier tonight rang in her throbbing eardrums, which roared with sound.

_Seduce him. Get the man to fall in love with you before I rip his heart out with my own claws_ …

Norah flinched and actively averted her gaze. Professor Dumbledore ignored the young blonde werewolf's outburst as he continued, his lips pursed into a scowl, with Norah not paying any attention.

The rest of the dinner seemed to drag on in a truly awkward silence that never seemed to lift.

Quickly dismissing himself, Ollie Brennan bolted so fast from his chair in his haste to leave, that the towering, dark-haired man stumbled and almost overturned his chair in the process, and left, with a sneer, not glancing back over his shoulder even once, not sparing Norah a glance.

Slowly, the other Order members trickled out, until it was only the red-haired woman from earlier, Mrs. Weasley, but she had instructed Norah during the dinner to just call her Molly.

Norah nervously met the redheaded woman's gaze, but quickly looked back down as she saw Molly rise.

She stumbled, tripping over herself trying to leave, hoping the older witch would excuse Jameson for her lack of grace, considering she was still healing, when the witch called out.

"Wait! Miss Jameson! Norah, dear, a moment."

Norah, who had been heading for the doorway, turned gingerly on her heels, one hand on the door's frame to steady her wobbling, uneven gait.

Mrs. Weasley was smiling at the young blonde werewolf kindly, a quiet expression of nurturing etched on her lined and slightly weathered face.

She was standing with her back to Norah, though Molly had turned her head to look at Norah and was fussing over what looked like to Norah were a pan of freshly-baked double chocolate fudge brownies.

Just the smell of chocolate made her eyes water and her mouth start to salivate a bit. When she turned back to regard Norah still standing in the doorway, her dark brown eyes were twinkling.

"Your new partner left the kitchen before I had a chance to offer him dessert," Molly added in a tone that sounded more than a little annoyed and offended, and Norah faltered in movement. "I'm sure that boy's had quite a, ah, rough day, shall we say, considering the circumstances. Much like you have, dear. I merely thought that you could be a love and take some of these to him, perhaps make amends," Molly offered Norah softly.

As if to emphasize her point, she held out a small plate now holding four of the brownies.

Norah was briefly tempted to fling the plate right out of Molly's hands, or better yet, poison the brownies and only _then_ give them to Brennan and watch as he choked.

The young blonde felt a fiery heat creep to her cheeks. "W—wait," she stammered. "You… _heard_?"

Mrs. Weasley chuckled darkly and moved to sit at the kitchen table. "My dear, perhaps the entire household heard of your argument with Mr. Brennan. Ollie's voice carries when he so wishes it. I imagine he is not taking the death of his father well," she added somberly, her eyes darkening.

Molly's insatiable curiosity was practically bursting at the seams. Unable to hold her tongue any longer, she asked the young witch the question that had been burning on the tip of her tongue ever since her unorthodox arrival this evening, and even more so upon hearing Ollie shout at Norah earlier.

"You have an…interesting look in your eyes, Miss Jameson. Judging by that strange look you got on your face just now when I mentioned Ollie, I take it you're familiar with the man and his father?" Molly questioned in a nonchalant tone.

She was careful to mind her choice of words around the young woman, not wanting to startle the blonde any more so than the girl already was.

"I…" Norah started to say but faltered off.

There was a time when telling the truth was admirable. And other times, not so much. Moreover, given that barely knew Molly Weasley standing next to her, she decided, for now, at least, against telling the older red-haired witch the truth.

At least all of it, that was. Norah decided a partial truth would work in her favor, perhaps.

"I ah…know _of_ him," Norah stammered, recollecting Brennan's name, both his and his father, Jack, coming up in passing conversation amongst Greyback and the other Death Eaters whenever the Dark Lord would host meetings.

The blush speckling in her cheeks refused to leave. If anything, it only deepened as her embarrassment worsened.

Was she _that_ obvious? Was Molly Weasley simply a woman that observant? Apparently so, judging by the way her kind brown eyes narrowed and regarded her, somewhat suspiciously, though she did not speak.

The older witch had backed Norah into a corner with no way out. Jameson wildly wracked her brain trying to think of a retort. But none came.

"I…ah…well…h—his father, Jack was a…" she stammered, swallowing thickly past the lump in her throat. But to her surprise and immense relief, Mrs. Weasley held up a hand to stop Norah's incessant babbling as she stammered to think of an excuse to explain how it was, she knew of Jack.

Molly let a light little chuckle escape her lips. "Calm yourself, dear. I got the gist of your rambling. Nothing to trouble yourself over, Norah. You might be surprised to learn this, but it was Ollie who saved your life tonight from Rookwood."

Norah's eyes widened and all she could do was blink owlishly at the red-haired older witch and nod. She did not want to let on that she'd already learned this for herself by probing Lupin's mind earlier.

The guilt at what Greyback was forcing her to do sat not on Norah's chest, but inside the werewolf's mind, tormenting her, and she had not really even gotten to know her new partner yet. What Father was forcing her to do, to the very man who had saved her life from that—that creep of a man that dared to call himself a loyalist to Voldemort?

Norah could probably make amends to Brennan in subtle ways, but confession to anyone here in the Order of the Phoenix was off the table.

Especially since that _git_ , Mundungus Fletcher was in the Order and couldn't keep a bloody secret if his stupid, miserable life depended on it, and it was this fact that Norah realized there was no guarantee her confession would be private.

No. Best to assume the walls of this hovel had eyes and ears, especially with Dumbledore and Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody around, Norah thought.

The young blonde werewolf could tell just by looking at Mrs. Weasley, that the matronly witch was very likely the 'walls' of this townhouse, with eyes and ears as keen as a hawk's.

She definitely seemed like a gossip hound, with a vast wealth of information, as Mrs. Weasley had filled Norah in on who was who in the Order during dinner.

To her surprise, what the older witch said next surprised Norah. "That man, Mr. Brennan, is a hero, whether he thinks of himself as one or not. I've said it time and time again since he joined us a few years back, around the same time as Tonks, he does not give himself credit where credit is due. If it weren't for Ollie, Tonks, and Lupin both would have been killed a few months ago at the Ministry. I owe that boy, I think of those two like family. And…considering you're the man's new partner, now, if you're going to stay here with us, I think you owe it to yourself to get to know him better."

Molly shot her a kind smile. "It's the least you could do for the man, after all," she pressed on, almost as an afterthought. "He _did_ save your life."

Norah resisted the urge to groan in frustration, finding it incredibly difficult not to seize tufts of her blonde hair and throw back her head, and _scream_. She was right. Merlin damn her, but Molly was right. Besides, Greyback would be even more furious with her to learn she'd not at least tried to introduce herself to the man who'd killed her uncle.

_Adopted uncle_ , Norah quickly reminded herself, squeezing her eyes shut as visions of Bryce's face flitted through the forefront of her exhausted mind. _And Greyback is NOT my father_.

Norah listened intently, not realizing she'd been hanging onto Molly Weasley's every word until she exhaled slowly through her nose, not even aware she'd drawn in a breath and held it while she held out her hands to accept the plate of brownies.

"As a Legilimens, he's an integral part of obtaining information and keeping our organization running smoothly, though he'll tell you otherwise," Mrs. Weasley snorted in a playful manner, rolling her brown eyes in jest at Norah. "The man is far too modest, as I said, and thinks too lowly of himself if you ask my opinion, dear. I think that, in time, the two of you could get along if you would give yourself a chance to know him."

Her brown eyes lost their kindly shimmer and had suddenly grown wistful, as if she were remembering something she did not want to, her smile fading as the corners of her mouth twitched.

Norah furrowed her brows in a frown, knitting them together in confusion at the older witch's sudden abruptness in her cheery disposition.

"And you think… _I_ could be that brute's _friend_ , Mrs. Weasley?" Norah breathed in a breathless voice. She almost laughed at Molly's inner wish.

"He is _not_ a brute, my dear, and you would do well to mind your language around me. I'll not have that kind of talk about Mr. Brennan coming from anyone within this Order, know this now," Molly admonished, her hands now on her hips, the edges of her voice clipped.

She narrowed her gaze and looked toward the young blonde in a moment of suspicion.

There it was again, she noticed. That strange look tinged with just a hint of melancholy in her blue eyes. Molly just had to know for sure. Something about this entire situation felt a little 'off' to her.

"You are quite certain you've never met Ollie before, perhaps out on the streets?" Mrs. Weasley asked carefully, and to her disappointment, she was not surprised when the young blonde werewolf shook her head, confirming her suspicions, though there was a strange, unreadable glint in her eyes.

Molly let out a sigh of understanding and nodded. "Oh." Her face fell, crestfallen. "That's a shame, dear. I merely thought, you get this strange look in your eyes whenever his name or his father is mentioned in passing conversation and, well…I would be lying to you if I said I did not think Mr. Brennan could use a friend, considering…circumstances," she stammered, her cheeks flushing, wondering how much of Remus and Tonks's relationship she could divulge to Norah.

But it was not a secret the man still harbored unresolved feelings for his best friend, though whether or not he would learn how to deal with them in an appropriate way or not, remained to be seen.

She was surprised when the werewolf gestured towards the area of skin under her eye.

"Jack, his father, was behind that, his...his scar, wasn't he?" the young blonde witch asked in a somber voice.

Molly knew immediately the blonde was referring to the burn mark underneath Ollie's eye. "Y—yes, that's…that's right," Mrs. Weasley stammered, glancing at the girl out of the corner of her eyes as she turned back to the stovetop to continue cutting the rest of the brownies and putting them on a platter with the intent to deliver to the rest of the Order.

She herself almost never became flustered like this, especially in the presence of another witch, so what was going on? It was this woman, Molly was sure of it. Molly could not explain it, but something about this petite little blonde werewolf was… was _different_.

She could tell Norah Jameson was a special young woman, just like her Ginny was, just like Hermione and Tonks were. To save the poor thing from the further embarrassment of making an even bigger fool of herself, Mrs. Weasley took initiative to try to steer their conversation in a different direction.

Molly did not want to discuss Jack Brennan. It was bad enough the entire household had probably heard how the boy had flown off the handle and lost control when Tonks had informed the young man of the Death Eater's passing.

"I was merely suggesting, dear, that if you were his friend or not his friend, even, I guess, since he _did_ have a hand in saving your life tonight, that you might try to get to know him better. If nothing else comes of it, then you should thank Ollie. It's the right thing to do, Norah. Ollie's work keeps him busy, and considering how he gets…"

Here, she pantomimed headaches, wildly gesturing with her hands, given the man was a natural-born Legilimens, he very rarely ventured out into the streets, hating that he could not turn off his gift of reading peoples' minds whenever he so chose to.

Jameson quickly nodded her understanding. "He…and I…" she began slowly, trying to find her words. "Might have gotten off on the wrong foot," Norah said slowly and cautiously, twisting her fingers together, "but if what you tell me is true, and he _did_ save me, then…maybe he is not so bad," she whispered, suddenly sounding ashamed.

"Ollie is very nice and quite kind. He doesn't get out much, as I'm sure you can understand. He has…"

Mrs. Weasley paused, unsure just how much of the man's past involving Jack, what little she pieced together from what Ollie had told her, and what Tonks, as the man's best friend, had let her know as well, that she could divulge to her.

In the end, she decided less was better. And if the blonde wanted to know more about her new partner, then the only way she would get answers would be to directly ask the man her questions herself and open up to him.

"He's had a difficult life, and it has been challenging for him, adjusting to life in the Order."

This much was true. The man rarely indulged in conversation with the other Order members, save for Remus, Tonks, and sometimes Sirius.

But perhaps now that this cute little slip of a blonde witch was here, werewolf or not, maybe Jameson would be just the type to break him out of his spiraling torpid whirl of depression.

"Why?" Norah asked, interested, feeling her brows knit together in confusion as she clung to the little plate of brownies to take up to the man.

She paused as she pondered over her next choice of words, wanting to be careful in what she said. It wouldn't be good at all if the man were to learn that she was gossiping about him behind his back, though Molly seemed kind enough, really.

"He could… _leave_ if he…if he wanted to," Norah whispered, visions of her new partner's face flitting in the front of her mind as she talked about him, though it took her a moment to realize that she was really referring to herself, and Greyback.

What was even more troubling, were her thoughts on this matter.

How Molly and Lupin and Tonks and even Dumbledore were right about her. That she owed it to the man who'd saved her life tonight to try to befriend him, to make amends.

Here she was, in a safe house, Headquarters to the Order, no less, miles away from Father and his filth, but would she ever really truly be free of the Alpha's cruelty, if only she stayed in these walls?

"He _could_ , but he chooses not to. I think there is a small part of him that likes being around the select few people that he does trust," Molly added, thinking of Lupin and Tonks, before giving her head a curt shake to clear it, and continuing. "I think he quite likes his room here, but whenever I do talk to Ollie on those rare occasions, I get the feeling that, well, something's missing in his life."

Her original idea came back to mind as she looked into werewolf Norah Jameson's blue eyes.

Molly had seen it during the duration of the dinner earlier first hand for herself, the fleeting glances she gave Ollie Brennan, and the looks he sometimes shot her in return, watching her out of the corner of his eye, clearly interested.

Jameson wasn't outright admitting it, but it was clear that Norah knew something about Ollie that Mrs. Weasley did not, and she couldn't help but getting the feeling that, despite Ollie never having met the witch until tonight, that Norah somehow knew this man. Or knew _of_ him.

They _had_ to have met before. They just _had_ to.

"Dear, why don't you take those up to him?" Molly suggested kindly, gesturing towards the plate of brownies in her hand. "The man stays busy up in his room by himself, always fighting those headaches. He wouldn't even stop to _eat_ if we didn't make him. Oliver could use the company, and it would be a good excuse to introduce yourself, since you're going to be staying with us for quite some time, perhaps indefinitely, you might as well get to know your new partner, yes?"

Molly was expecting the werewolf to jump at the chance to do this one small favor for her, though she hoped the werewolf wouldn't catch onto what she was really doing.

This new girl had a keen sense of intelligence about her. If perhaps she was a little bit strange, saying things at times, talking to herself in a way that made no sense.

But the girl was cute enough.

Almost spritely, with elfin-like features and a beautiful smile, and an infectious personality, which Molly thought it strange for her to make another connection so fast. She had known Norah Jameson for all of maybe an hour, at best. The young woman looked to be around Tonks's age, maybe a year or two older, maybe closer to Ollie's age, she couldn't say.

"Age is right. You might be just what he needs." Only when Jameson's head turned to regard what Molly had said did she realized she'd said it aloud.

"Wh— _what_?" Jameson stammered. "Molly? Did...did you say something?"

Molly blanched and immediately tried to correct her mistake. "I—I meant…it will be good for Ollie to have a partner close to his own age to talk to."

Whatever kind of reaction Molly had been expecting the blonde witch to have, pure unadulterated terror was admittedly, not one of them.

The matronly witch watched as the wolf's blonde eyes grew wide and round with shock at the very suggestion. Molly noticed with some small measure of affection that the girl had the same nervous habit that Ollie did, of taking her hands, painfully twisting them together whenever she was nervous or thinking about something that ailed her, weaving her fingers in between her knuckles.

Norah cast a wary glance over her shoulder towards the kitchen's entryway, and Molly didn't even have to look to know she was looking towards the stairwell, not wanting to go up there alone.

"Oh, but Mrs. Weasley, I…I _can't_!" she squeaked and grabbed a hold of the skirts of her black dress as she stepped back a few paces, a look of utter horror on her face. "Um, what if he doesn't want to be bothered? Maybe he has a headache? He will yell at me again for sneaking up there, won't he?"

"No, dear. I seriously doubt he would turn you away," chuckled Molly kindly. "I will admit," she added, heaving a tired sigh, "that Ollie doesn't tend to take kindly to strangers coming up to his room unannounced, as we've had…ah, _problems_ , shall we say, the last few weeks with his headaches."

She paused, cringing as Molly recanted the number of times the man had erupted into an outburst, his screams of anguished torment practically rattling the very walls of Headquarters.

"But…" Norah's voice trailed off as she looked into Molly's eyes, unable to tear her gaze away.

"If _I_ go up there, I tend to just annoy him to no end," she confessed rather sheepishly, reaching up to tuck back a stray lock of red hair that had come loose from her bun.

A light chuckle escaped her lips as her brown eyes grew hazy as she remembered something, no doubt remembering the last time she had annoyed him.

"No, I think the best chance I have of reaching the boy who, I might add, is something like a son to me, is if a beautiful woman such as yourself goes up there and tries to talk to him." If it was possible, the girl's eyes grew even wider, almost bug-like.

" _Please_ , Norah," begged Molly, as she fell silent and waited for Norah.

The witch watched and waited patiently as Norah fought the internal conflict that was currently waging war in her mind and stifled her urge to smile at her.

Were this any normal woman, most would be worried about taking Molly up on her request for fear of what they would find when they went up to his room. There were, suffice to say, still quite a few people out there who labeled Ollie Brennan as some form of demon or beast or a monster rather than a man.

But with this creature, Molly sensed that such was not the case.

No, there was something else entirely on her mind. Noting that the girl's inner struggle was not going to cease anytime soon, she spoke once more, this time in a sincerer fashion, losing any semblance of teasing.

" _Please_. Let me put it to you this way, Norah," she began, setting the tray down on a side table and rested against the wall for support. "You would be doing me an enormous favor, and if, for whatever reason, things should go sour up there, _I_ will bear the brunt of the blame as it was my idea in the first place."

It was the use of the word please that did it, Molly knew then. Molly decided to offer a few words of what she called 'matronly encouragement,' given that she had seven children and was quite used to this by now, but she cared for Ollie Brennan like he was her own son.

This girl could very well become like a daughter to her if she opened up. Molly sighed sadly as she stared at the youthful blonde opposite her.

She knew exactly what was happening to the poor dear, the emotions she was feeling at being away from her home, she had seen the process again and again with each new Order member that came to them with no family to go home to.

By keeping busy, by remaining focused on some menial task, they could forget.

"Is everything okay, Norah?" asked Molly as she drew closer to her.

Norah's head, which had been lowered, quite possibly so Molly would not see the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes and threatened to spill over, whiplashed sharply up at hearing the witch ask her yet another question.

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Weasley, everything is fine!" she replied brightly.

Molly scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Molly, dear, Molly! Everyone who stays with us here in our doors is equal, at least around me. The first couple of weeks are usually the hardest if you're new to the Order of the Phoenix, so if there is anything you need while you are staying with us, anything you wish to discuss, come to me, and we can always chat over a glass of wine while I cut your hair."

"O—oh," stammered Norah, unable to form a coherent reply. All she could do was stare and blink owlishly at Molly, touched and quite frankly, in awe of the witch's kindness.

She had not expected anyone in Headquarters to be so kind to her, given what she had come for.

To seduce one of their own members and the added bonus that she was a werewolf, besides. Norah had fully been expecting the Order to turn her away, or for everyone that she had met in this world to be rude, impolite, and generally unkind to someone such as her.

However, in her current state of unease and vulnerability, kindness coming from someone like Molly felt like a stab in the heart with a rusty dagger, twisted so far in her chest she couldn't pull it out.

She could fear her eyes beginning to tear up. "Thank you, Molly," she croaked hoarsely. "For your kind words and your concern, but I am certain I will be just fine, I can handle Brennan and his temper," she replied, and she recognized her voice sounded cold.

"Of course, child," Molly replied kindly, not blaming Norah in the least for not knowing how to react to her situation. "I need to distribute the rest of these before they get cold," she added, gesturing towards the pan of brownies she'd just finished cutting. "Let me know how it goes up there," she added, a coy grin forming on her lips as she pointedly turned away.

Norah nodded. Biting her lip, Norah cast one last longing glance towards the stairwell as she headed out of the kitchens, and that was when Molly sensed the shift within the young blonde woman as something changed.

She gave a curt nod, signaling she would do this, though there was no mistaking the look of trepidation in those bewitching eyes of hers as she gingerly gathered the plate in her hands, carefully balancing the tray in one hand, lifted the skirts of her black lace dress a bit as she began to climb the stairs, a newfound determination and courage seeming to propel her to go.

Molly watched the strange little blonde depart, and, as the girl climbed the stairs, the witch was inexplicably hit by the feeling that before too long, it was likely she would have new stories to tell Remus and Tonks and the others, assuming this new girl and the Legilimens hit it off as she hoped.

She would be the first to admit the boy deserved love in his life.

"Maybe this girl will be the one for him," she mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully before disappearing down the hallway. "Only time will tell."

And at that moment, Molly had no idea just how right she was.


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

**NORAH** had been about to climb the stairs to the second floor of Headquarters to Brennan's room, but her fear of seeing him was getting the better of her.

Mrs. Weasley had long since left the blonde werewolf to her own devices, which had since resulted in a restless pacing spell as she wandered the length of the front hallway, not wanting to go up and face the man again after…that.

"If I do this, there's no going back and Father will get what he wants," the wolf growled angrily through gritted teeth.

And Greyback _always_ got what he wanted, in the end.

"Ugh. Why _me_? Why did I agree to do this for you, Dad? _Why_?" Norah moaned.

_What if you give away who you are and accidentally let it slip? You know you've always had a bad habit of not being able to watch your mouth…_

Her inner demonic voices were tormenting her greatly, not giving her any peace. She growled in agitation.

Growing increasingly frustrated with herself at her overall lack of courage towards going up there and seeing him again, and unable to sell herself on just doing what Molly Weasley had asked of her, Norah plopped herself on the bottommost step of the stairs, staring up at the ceiling and letting herself sigh in an unrestrained manner.

An unfamiliar feeling was beginning to well in her chest. It took Norah Jameson a moment to realize it was a vent of adrenaline and courage surging in her veins, hot as dragon fire.

"Okay, you can _do_ this. Just… go up there, drop these off, and get out before he has a chance to yell at you again, Jameson," she muttered through gritted teeth, steeling her nerves, and heaving a heavy sigh as she rose to her feet, clutching the little plate of brownies Molly had prepared.

Molly _claimed_ she'd made them for _everyone_ , but Norah had a sinking feeling in the pit of her churning stomach it was specifically as a peace offering of sorts.

As she climbed the rickety old stairwell, doing her best not to trip over the hem of her long black lace dress, all the while balancing the plate of brownies in her hand, Jameson could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of trepidation that pricked at her heartstrings at all of this.

"Am I _really_ going to _do_ this?" she whispered, horrified at her own actions, disbelieving of the mess she'd gotten herself into by going along with Greyback's plan. "I really _am_ a _stupid witch_ if I'm actually _considering_ doing this for Dad when that man saved your life. Listen to yourself, Jameson, this whole thing is positively _insane_!"

_But you know you owe it to him_. Her conscience was NOT helping her in this regard, and Norah was able to silence it with one low wolfish growl that erupted from deep in her chest.

"Oh, my Merlin…" she moaned, finding it difficult not to roll her eyes a bit the closer she got. "Perhaps things are looking up," she whispered, a note of hope creeping its way into her voice. "Though don't kid yourself, Jameson. The only way things will improve for you is if you find a way out of Dad's clutches without bloody getting your own throat ripped out, and you and I both know the only way out of this situation unless someone here in the Order takes a liking to you and helps you is death. You're trapped in Greyback's clutches until my life debt is paid, which is never," Norah whispered, as though her words would be the silencer to the dark, demonic voices swirling around inside her mind.

Fate, the young blonde werewolf knew, could be as cruel as Death itself, which was something she knew for herself firsthand. There were demons in her life, men, wizards like Fenrir Greyback, who held her feelings and faults over her head daily, doing unspeakable things to her that left her scarred, both physically and emotionally, yes. Norah Jameson was a broken, battered wreck.

These demons, these men, figuratively speaking, held onto her neck so tightly, they squeezed the very air from her lungs.

Yet, she figured fate would get tired of suffocating her, that its clutches would numb eventually, and loosen its grip around the column of her throat, but it _didn't_.

As Norah continued to climb the stairwell, not sure nor was she caring where the hell she went at this point, she knew that this decision she had foolishly agreed to help Greyback undertake, was never going to set her free from that monster.

At the moment, the young werewolf had no idea the events in motion she was about to unleash, the lives she would touch and change, not to mention that of her own and Brennan's.

She let out a tiny groan. She'd reached the top of the stairs and could climb no further, much to Norah's chagrin.

This was bloody _it_.

The moment that she was going to have to decide. To dare to enter the man's room uninvited and unannounced or turn around and head back down the stairwell.

The choice should have been relatively easy for most witches. But for Norah, it wasn't.

Norah paused once she reached the front of the door, desperately trying to regulate her heartbeat, which was throbbing relentlessly against her chest, back to normal, hoping to hide how fearful she was, not knowing what kind of horrible, awful mood the man might be stuck in.

She could control the tremors in her voice to an extent. She could consciously force her body movements to be less still. She could even make herself smile, at least a little, even if it looked pasted onto her pallid and peaky features.

The beads of sweat forming onto her browbone was a law unto itself and in no time at all, she found herself sweating.

"You're _insane_ , Jameson. Are you bloody out of your Merlin-damned mind? You saw how he was looking at you during dinner, he _hates_ you!" she angrily growled, whisper hissing her words through her clenched teeth and locked jaw.

_He's not going to want to see you, not after tonight. Molly said it herself. He doesn't take kindly to strangers entering his room announced, and you're definitely a stranger_ …

Her thought process trailed off as Norah looked around, taking a deep breath to try to steel the worst of her fear.

The young blonde witch felt as though her lungs were slowly filling with water as if there was just less space in them for air. Inflating them felt like pushing a lead weight on her chest.

She drew in a deep breath as though her life depended on it, yet it would not come to her. Her breaths seemed to stutter and die in her lungs before Norah released it, feeling the tension slowly melt off her body like Stinksap, as she gingerly pushed the door open that led inside to Brennan's bedroom, visibly wincing as the thing creaked horribly, alerting Brennan, if he was inside, to her presence. Norah froze, her face paling.

"Just bloody _great_ ," she growled, whisper-hissing a few choice curse words under her breath as she took another cautious half step forward into the pitch-blackened bedroom.

"There goes the stealth part of my plan. Now, what do I do?" She paused, needing to drink in the silence to counteract the fear that threatened to engulf her completely.

This kind of thick silence would normally chill her bones, but tonight, for the young blonde witch and werewolf, it worked like a healing salve. She felt it. The more absolute it was, the stronger its medicinal effect.

Realizing that the silence was now her enemy, she mustered up all her courage and called out, hoping that whoever was here would answer her and quit leaving her in suspense as to whether or not she was alone.

"Hello? Brennan? Are you up here? Mrs. Weasley asked me to come to check on you, said you were suffering a headache. I—I have…brownies? They're…really good…" she whispered, her voice trailing off.

She was met with nothing but silence. If he was in fact here, and not answering her, Norah felt a surge of anger rise within herself and set the little plate of brownies Molly had made for Brennan down on a nearby wooden table and had been about to turn on her heels to go.

Norah would have left right then and there, if not for a portrait hung on the wall just across from the queen-size bed, that caught Norah's eye.

As Norah gingerly approached, wanting a better look, she felt her blue eyes widen in shock and horror as she found herself looking into the shrewd-looking face of former Death Eater, Jack Brennan's.

_Brennan's father_ , she thought wildly.

His portrait was unmoved and lifeless, which Jameson thought strange. She felt certain his portrait would have been enchanted and moved like all the others. His piercing blue eyes, just like his son's, seemed to penetrate out of the portrait, like there was real life behind the paint.

The man's name was inscribed in the golden frame that held the truly formidable-looking paint. _Jack Daniel Brennan_.

Norah could not explain it, but she felt a stab of pity prick at her heartstrings for her new partner, thinking that was Jack a kinder father to his son, then maybe his offspring wouldn't have grown up to be such a vicious man, if the rumors she'd heard tell of Ollie from Greyback were true.

Without even thinking of what she was doing, Norah closed her eyes and held out the palm of her hand, silently and using nonverbal magic to conjure a single, pristine white lily flower, where she set it inside of a nearby vase and put the vase just underneath the portrait, her gaze once more drawn to Jack Brennan's glacier-cold and fathomless glower.

"I hope that some measure of happiness and peace have come to you, Jack, and may you find the peace in death that you could not find in this life," Norah whispered out of a show of respect, clasping her hands together and feeling her fingers dig into the skin of her palms as she spoke the words.

Just as she was about to bow her head and close her eyes with the intent of offering a silent prayer to Merlin up in the heavens above to take care of Jack, however, Norah heard the sound of approaching footsteps coming from just outside.

Realizing they were coming closer and closer, thinking it to be Brennan, there was absolutely no doubt her partner was making his way towards his room was no doubt going to take in the sight of the blonde standing in the middle of his room, unannounced and unvented, more to the point, besides.

Norah whirled around and took a faltering step backward, visibly wincing as her black leather ankle boot stepped on a particularly noisy floorboard and the damned thing creaked, alerting Brennan, if that was indeed him, to her presence.

_Ugh_ , she thought, letting out a tiny groan and briefly squeezing her eyes tightly shut. _I really need to work on my sneaking_. _There's no way my new partner didn't bloody hear that_.

Hastily looking about the room for someplace— _anything_ —that she could slip behind to hide, Norah bit down on her bottom lip and ducked behind the front door, shrinking as far back into the corner. She tried to make herself as small as possible, tucking in her black lace dress behind her legs and clamping a hand over her mouth, trying to still her breathing to a standstill.

The man's deep, disenthralled voice reached her eardrums, and Norah couldn't be sure, but it sounded like the man was talking to Nymphadora Tonks. Norah fell silent and listened.

"…I don't understand why that has to do with _me_ , T," he was grumbling to the young witch. "You _saw_ the way that girl looked at me. Jameson _hates_ me. I saw it in her eyes tonight, Tonks. She doesn't want anything to _do_ with me," he snarled. "I'm better off _alone_. We both know it. It's pointless, T, so _stop_ …"

Norah froze. Unlike Tonks's voice, who muttered a few choice words about her friend's attitude that Norah dared not repeat, which sounded just outside the door and in the hallway, her new partner's voice sounded much closer and self-contained.

Almost _too_ close.

Her back pressed firmly against the peeling wallpaper of the room, Norah breathed slowly through her nose, her nose tickling as she fought back the onset of a sneeze as a result of the copious amounts of dust and grime in the room.

Clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to escape her lips, Norah saw Brennan's towering figure stalk into the room, heard him heave a heavy sigh of exasperation and tiredness, as though he could not be bothered to argue with whatever Tonks was saying to him when he stilled.

"Why is this lily here, Tonks? Did you come into my room earlier, Dora?" he growled. Nymphadora's voice from the doorway just outside of Brennan's bedroom immediately stopped talking as a dead silence fell as Tonks, wisely, shut up.

Brennan's voice might not have suggested anger to most other people, but Norah had had enough interactions with the man, however brief they had been, to know that the man's calm, smooth, rich, and melodious voice hid the deep-seated rage just bubbling, threatening to breach the surface.

And it seemed like it was about to burst forth for the third or fourth time in the span of a single eve.

Because of _her_. It was at that point that Norah felt her heart sink to the pit of her churning stomach and she might as well just point her own wand squarely at her chest and just kill herself now with the Killing Curse.

She'd bloody been found out by the way his blue eyes narrowed, and she _swore_ , for a moment, as her heart stopped, that his piercing glacier gaze settled and lingered upon her petite form, cowering behind the door, hoping that she'd not be discovered.

"Did _you_ do this?" asked Brennan, his voice curt and angered as he swiveled his direction to look towards the open doorway, to Tonks. "Did _Remus_ set you up to do this, Dora?"

"No, Ollie, of course, not," came Tonks's voice, perhaps for the first time since knowing the young witch close to her age, Norah thought the Auror and pink-haired witch sounded unnerved. Even scared.

"Then what the bloody hell _is_ this?!" bellowed her new partner's voice, his hoarse voice full of such anger and intensity and fury, that Norah was taken completely off-guard.

She couldn't help but flinch. Even under Greyback's thumb, all the Death Eaters' names she'd come to be acquainted with, she'd never heard anyone sound quite like Brennan did now.

Simply put, the man sounded utterly terrifying.

Just as Norah thought Brennan would start shouting again, she heard his footsteps come closer.

Norah squeezed her eyes tightly shut and prayed Ollie wouldn't discover her hiding behind his bedroom door, that he would leave with Tonks and grant her a much-needed opening to escape and forget that this had ever happened.

"Tonks, _leave_ ," came Ollie's voice, hearing the man sigh dejectedly as Norah's wolfish hearing perked up at the sound of Tonks's footsteps fading and going back down the creaky stairs. " _Please_ ," he added in a somewhat softer, almost gentler tone that made Norah shiver, but not with fear.

How quickly the man's countenance could shift from a wave of terrifying anger to such a gentle tenderness, the likes of which Norah had never been fortunate enough to experience for herself. She'd dreamed of meeting a handsome enough man like Brennan one day.

_If only he were nicer_ , she thought sadly.

Norah felt her heart sink to the pit of her swooping stomach. Now it was just her and him _alone_ in the bedroom together.

The thought made her nauseous, and the young blonde swore she could feel her face paling before turning an interesting shade of green, and she tasted bile as it rose to the back of her throat.

She'd _seen_ the way the man had been eyeballing her during dinner when he thought she wasn't looking.

Norah could not help but wonder what her partner was thinking as he turned almost slowly and methodically to stare at the Muggle-painted oil painting of Jack Brennan's likeness.

Did he feel any kind of remorse or sadness at all at his father's passing?

_Probably not_ , Norah thought darkly to herself. The young blonde wolf silently prayed that he would leave the room.

That he'd go away soon, and she could go to her humble bedroom just down the hall that Molly and Tonks made for her.

Which now seemed like the safest place in the whole world.

Free to escape this hellish nightmare she'd made of her life. Norah drew in a breath and held it, waiting with bated breath for the man to turn on the heels of his boots and leave.

As she waited, however, Norah's thoughts inexplicably wandered back to the sigh she had heard the man give off just now. He'd sounded utterly exhausted.

She might even go so far as to call the man depressed. She wondered if she could help him—

" _Jameson_. Did you really think I didn't _know_?!"

_Oh, damn_. Norah felt her breaths catch in her throat as they stopped and died in her lungs. The werewolf swore her heart stopped beating and pumping blood to her veins too.

What followed next was positively the longest pause in Norah's life. She could hear her own frantic breaths and racing heart as it pounded relentlessly against her chest.

For a moment, Jameson wondered whether she had possibly imagined the man speaking.

"Did you really think I didn't _hear_ you, _wolf_?" murmured Ollie Brennan, his rough voice sounding dangerously quiet, calm.

Norah wracked her brain as she tried to think her way out of this mess, an ability she normally prided herself on, as she was quite good at it.

But perhaps for the first time in her adult life, Jameson found herself at a loss for what to do, much less how to respond.

Norah could not even form an adequate enough reply. It felt as though she'd lost the ability to speak, for when her lips parted open to try to speak, all that came out was a strangled attempt at speech.

She debated whether or not she was having a panic attack or a heart attack. Both seemed plausible, given her paralyzed state.

This could _not_ bloody be _happening_ …

Oh, but it _was_ , and Norah very nearly screamed in surprise and fear when his voice, accusing, rent the silent air between them.

"Did you honestly think I didn't _hear_ you, Jameson? I'm a _Legilimens_ , Jameson, I can read your thoughts whether I like it or not. Did you think you could just _hide_ there and get away with this? Get out here right now," he snarled, the edges of his voice hardened.

As Brennan's voice rose and became rougher, grating, with anger as his temper rapidly swelled to the surface, Norah suddenly felt a rush of cold wind hit her face as Brennan slammed the door shut, exposing her vulnerable position to him.

Norah felt herself being dragged out into the middle of the room by her arm and made to stand facing him in the middle of the room.

Norah let out a muffled whimper of fear as she felt the hot burn of the lighted tip of the man's wand suddenly being thrust incredibly close to her face, and she had little if no time at all to react, her line of sight now completely obstructed by the blinding white light that was causing her to keep her eyes squeezed shut.

She wished Tonks would have stayed. She could have used a helping hand in getting this man off of her and calmed down.

Feeling the ironclad grip of her new Order partner's hand-wound tightly around her left shoulder, Norah's eyelids slowly fluttered open as the man lowered his wand that he had thrust into her face.

Her vision slowly but surely cleared, letting her see. Ollie Brennan's face was thrust so closely to hers, he was close enough to _kiss_ her if he were of a mind to, and she sincerely hoped he didn't, otherwise, she'd have no choice but to bite him. His short raven-black hair was wild and disheveled, stubble from his close-cropped, rough beard clung to his strong and angular jawline, chin, and upper lip, suggesting he hadn't shaved in a couple of nights, giving him a rugged look.

But even Norah had to admit, despite the hideous, grotesque-looking burn mark that twisted and marred the flesh underneath the bloke's right eye, Brennan still remained a handsome man.

Yet, his eyes captured Norah's attention the most, however. Now that she was up close and personal with the man for the second time in one night, never before had she seen such a piercing crystalline blue before.

They reminded her of stormy seas. A smoldering, fathomless rage seemed to shimmer, lurking just beneath the surface, which, in her mind, spelled _danger_. A wave of anger and fierceness so breaching, it felt like waves crashing against volatile cliffsides in retaliation. These were the eyes of a man who yielded to no one but _himself_ , Norah knew.

A person assertive and strong-willed, and it frightened her. Once again, Norah Jameson found herself face-to-face and locking her gaze with for the second time tonight, at a loss.

Unbeknownst to the two of them, just outside the bedroom door, Moody and Tonks were watching the pair of them, interested, and waiting to see how the situation unfolded.

Well, more specifically put, Mad-Eye's swiveling magical eye remained fixated on the door, able to see through it, and he was whispering in hushed tones to his protégé what happened.

Tonks and Moody stood just outside the closed bedroom door of her best friend, both of them wishing they had a pair of Extendable Ears to hear what Norah Jameson was saying in a faint voice in response to Ollie's loud, hoarse shouting.

After a moment, Tonks motioned to turn away by clapping her hand on the grizzled old Auror's shoulder, motioning for Alastor Moody to hobble his way down the stairs and to follow her outside, where Remus was waiting for her.

There was a crooked smile on her face. "Huh," she muttered, her thoughts lingering on Ollie's new partner as she and Moody slowly made their way down the stairwell and out into the cold night air to Disapparate to their respective homes. "Interesting. Looks like Jameson might be just what he needs."

* * *

**Tonks, you sly witch, you! Coming up in 15, is one of my favorites, as Norah deals with Ollie's bad mood (yet again) and attempts to talk him down from his...current state.**


End file.
